


Rise Up Like the Sun

by SideStepping



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Dystopia, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-08
Updated: 2016-09-08
Packaged: 2018-08-12 18:23:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 7
Words: 56,170
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7944646
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SideStepping/pseuds/SideStepping
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Futue dystopian AU. In a divided world where the ruling magical class is steadily crushing all non-magical resistance, Arthur has little chance of survival when cast out of the non-magical haven. Merlin keeps to the shadows, trying to keep his friends safe whilst the hope of an end to the war steadily dies inside him. When they meet, secrets, lies and the rest of the world treaten to tear them apart, but in Merlin, Arthur finds a home and in Arthur, Merlin finds his hope once more.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [RedQueen](https://archiveofourown.org/users/RedQueen/gifts).



> Thrilled to have stormed through another big bang! As always, After Camlann was incredible!! This fic came out of a mash-up of several different fics I had plans for but none of which wanted to come to life - I hope you like the end product!
> 
> As always, all the cookies to my stupendous beta [fingerprintbruises](http://archiveofourown.org/users/fingerprintbruises/pseuds/fingerprintbruises) for doing such an excellent job! That being said, all remaining mistakes are entirely my own. 
> 
> I can't express enough love to [le_red_queen](http://le-red-queen.livejournal.com/) for taking on my fic and pre-matching! It's been wonderful to work with you over the past few months and I abolsutely adore your artwork! Everyone please go and give [the artwork](http://archiveofourown.org/works/7987696) all the love! 
> 
> Finally to the mods! Amazing as always, and I am eternally grateful to you for running this fest!
> 
> The title is from the song 'Be Still' by The Killers. Much to my disappointment, I neither own BBC Merlin, nor The Killers.

Shadows clung to the rough stone walls as Arthur strode down the corridor. He was aware of the people in his path scurrying to get out of the way, or shrinking back against the walls to let him past. He didn’t pay much attention to them.

Pipes ran along the walls to feed the gas lighting, but they’d been running low on fuel and only every other light was lit. The sound of water dripping matched Arthur’s footsteps, trickling through the algae and moss which lined the walls.

It was hardly a palace, but the Fortress had kept the non-magical community secure from any attack for centuries.

It was a safe haven for non-magical folk. After years of oppression under the magical rule, non-magicals had begun to fight back. When events turned bloody, and the loss of life had been countless, the non-magical community had retreated and fled to wherever they could find safety.

The Fortress had once been an underground city to protect the nation’s leaders from war, back when the threat of a nuclear war was greater than that of a magical one; now it was both an underground city and the base for the largest magical resistance force in the country.

The corridor ended in a thick steel door which, when Arthur keyed in his code, slid open.

The room beyond was better lit, a pool of light surrounding a long table at which a number of people were seated. Arthur’s father was at its head, his face somewhat hidden in shadow, but Arthur could still tell he was displeased.

“You’re late,” was the stony welcome Arthur received.

“Apologies, sir,” Arthur responded, hastening for his seat at Uther’s right hand. “But I believe the information I have brought will incline you to forgive me.”

He dropped the brown folder he had been carrying with him onto the table in front of his father. It was hard not to withhold the smirk of triumph – he’d been waiting for this for so long.

“You’ve finished it?” Uther asked quietly, leaning forward in his seat to open the folder.

“And more.”

There was silence in the room as Uther steadily turned the pages, his eyes narrowing as he read through the information Arthur had tirelessly collected.

Arthur knew when his father reached the piece of information that was the most important – the thing that would change _everything_ – because he let out a startled sound and his gaze shot up to meet Arthur’s.

It was unusual for Arthur to ever see this level of emotion from Uther, his father was looking viciously excited, his eyes alight with determination.

“Are you sure?” he asked, his finger coming down to point at the concluding paragraph. “Are you _certain_?”

“It is all correct, sir.”

Uther clapped a hand on Arthur’s shoulder. “Well done, Arthur.”

“Thank you, sir.”

Uther got to his feet, tossing the folder down the table. Arthur could tell the others had been impatient to know what it contained, and more than one person made a greedy grab for the report.

“Gentlemen,” Uther said, “this is how we win the war.”

It was Aredian who succeeded in claiming the report, ignoring Cenred’s hiss of anger, and he flipped through to the end to find what it was Uther had been so pleased with.

After a beat of his eyes flashing side to side across the page, he tossed the report across the table to Cenred, turning his body towards Uther, but his gaze onto Arthur.

“Where’s the proof?” he spat. “It’s a fluke in my opinion.”

“My sources are infallible-,” Arthur began, but Uther cut across him, a deep glare in Aredian’s direction.

“I trust Arthur.”

Taken aback, it took Arthur a moment to realise his father had in fact just uttered those words.

“It might work,” Cenred said, pushing the folder away for the others to grab at. He leant back in his seat lazily, a provoking sneer sent in Arthur’s direction. “It’s a difficult role to fill, however. Little chance of success.”

“Is that your way of saying you’re a coward, Cen?” Valiant said, having read the folder and passed it on without the smallest sign of interest. “If I might say, sir,” he continued, turning to Uther with a sudden show of deference. “It would be an honour to take up this role, to serve our people in any-.”

“Who are you calling a coward?” Cenred snapped. “I was going to say that few here would fit the terms.”

There was an angry outburst from several of the other men at the table. Arthur saw Bayard begin to rise from his seat, Odin give a bark of derision at Cenred’s words, and Dagr looked outraged. Across the table from Arthur, Aredian smirked at the chaos.

“The person who takes up the mission will be decided by a challenge,” Uther said firmly, his blunt tone cutting through the noise.

Arthur felt a little wounded, he had thought his father would choose him. He was the most familiar with the task, he had planned it, made it possible.

He sensed Uther’s gaze upon him and forced himself not to look defeated.

He could easily win a challenge anyway.

The meeting broke up after a few more questions, but Arthur hung back, no wanting to have to face Cenred’s mocking gaze.

Aredian remained in his seat, obviously having arranged to talk to Uther, and Arthur didn’t miss the shared glance that passed between the two.

“Father, I’d like to add that-”

“I’m sorry, Arthur,” Uther interrupted, turning away from Arthur to take his seat at the table again. “It will have to wait. Take your folder with you, you need Gaius’ notes to complete everything.”

Feeling thoroughly put in his place, Arthur took the folder from the table, and left the room, unable to say anything except a forced, “Yes, sir.”

The corridor beyond was still crowded with people both from the meeting and the others whom Arthur had passed on his way in. People stared as he marched back past them and he wondered if they could see his shame. In his father’s eyes, he still wasn’t good enough.

The corridor had many doorways leading off it and in places it branched off, part of the maze of tunnels, rooms and stairways that made up the Fortress.

Despite its size, however, it wasn’t nearly big enough. People were arriving almost daily, fleeing from the magical tyranny in the world above. The bunk rooms were full and the city had developed its own homeless population. They were the ones watching Arthur now as he walked past. Tucked up against the walls, their few belongings kept close.

Arthur felt for them and wanted to help them, but Uther had always made it perfectly clear that there was nothing they could do.

_“They come here for safety, and for our hospitality, Arthur, they work to help us win the war. When the war is over they will be rewarded, but we cannot be setting aside our goals to provide for everyone.”_

Digging a hand into his jacket pocket, Arthur pulled out the package of rations he had been given that day. He quickly stuffed them into the hands of a small, waif-like girl, who looked at Arthur like he’d just grown horns.

He didn’t wait for a response and instead pushed through a group of people waiting for the elevator and headed for the door that led to the stairs.

The lifts were slow on the best of days and often got stuck. They didn’t even go low enough for Arthur anyway.

The stairway was in almost complete darkness, a single bulb lighting one of every three floors, and the metal grating of each step was slick with water. Arthur’s tough boots provided him with enough grip, however, and he pounded down, losing track of which level he was even on as he wound lower and lower.

Finally, he recognised a door that had once been painted green, a faded 34 marked on it in white chalk.

He pushed it open, revealing a rough stone corridor, like the ones on all the floors above, but this one was better kept, drier and less dirty. It was also empty.

Four doors led off the corridor, their surfaces painted an off white which had chipped and faded. Two bulbs in the ceiling lit up the dilapidated scene, but as soon as he’d left the dank and dark stairwell, Arthur let out a breath and the tension faded from his limbs.

He pushed the door shut behind him and went to the third door in the corridor, knocked, and without waiting for permission, entered.

“Is that you, Arthur?”

The room beyond was a mess, bookshelves lining the walls, overflowing with books, folders and papers. Two large desks filled most of the space in the middle of the room, covered in more books, but also littered with glass vials, bottles and various dried herbs.

Arthur breathed in deeply, the smell of the place calming him.

It was Gaius who had spoken, sat at one of the desks with his back to the door and a magnifying lens over one eye. He was looking intently at strange silver pendant which had intricate runes carved around the edge and a twisted knot of metal in the centre.

“It’s me,” Arthur responded, stepping nearer to look over Gaius’ shoulder.

Gaius tucked the pendant away somewhere before Arthur could get too close, and from somewhere in the mess, he managed to extract a chair for Arthur to sit on.

“So, how did it go?” he asked, indicating the folder in Arthur’s hands.

“It went well,” Arthur said, flipping the folder open at random so he wouldn’t have to meet Gaius’ knowing gaze. It opened at the page where he’d listed the details of their target. Cornelius Sigan. Magic user. There was a picture attached of a thin, pale man with a pinched face, framed by limp and greasy hair. Arthur stared at it for a moment, and then shut the folder. “He was pleased.”

“I should think so,” Gaius said. “You’ve worked very hard for this.”

Arthur nodded. “I wanted to thank you for your help. And I need the notes from your research to show how the drug needs to be used.”

“You already know that, though, m’boy,” Gaius said.

“Ah, well,” Arthur replied, ducking his head. “It might not be me who goes. Father has made it a challenge to determine the best candidate for the role.”

“Oh, Arthur.”

“I don’t want your pity,” Arthur said sharply. “There are many very competent people who could go and find Sigan. It’s logical to put it to a challenge-”

“And also completely unreasonable,” Gaius replied.

Arthur huffed a laugh. “Don’t worry, Gaius. I’ll easily win the challenge,” he said, giving something of a cocky smile.

Gaius raised his eyebrow, but didn’t pursue it.

“Here is the information about the drug,” he said, plucking a seemingly random file out of the masses. “ _Whoever_ ends up on the mission will need to be aware how often they should take it, how much they’ll need to take with them because I presume they could be a long time above ground, and also, that it will only show the _scanners_ that magic is present. Any magic user who is searching will know that they are non-magical.”

“So we should aim never to get to that stage,” Arthur said.

“If you get to that stage, m’boy,” Gaius said gravely, “you’ll be dead.”

Arthur couldn’t think of anything to say to that.

“But the scanners are what matter,” Gaius continued, “most of the magical community don’t live in suspicion of everyone around them and Sigan may only live in a low-level security zone – but to gain his trust you’ll need to appear like any other magical above-ground.”

“Why him, Gaius? Surely any magical would do? You must know of one?” Arthur waved a hand in the direction of the report, trying not to show his distaste. He hadn’t exactly been pleased when Gaius had proposed Sigan as a magical to approach. Arthur had a bad feeling about him.  

He wondered if he imagined the way Gaius hesitated before answering.

“He’s a magical, Arthur. He’s strong, strong enough perhaps to make a difference. We know enough about him for you to try and approach him, try and earn his trust. ”

“But when this Sigan finds out I don’t have magic, surely he won’t trust me after that?”

“It will be up to you to sway him to our cause, Arthur.”

Arthur bit his lip, scowling a little because in no way was this going to be easy.

“Get through the challenge first,” Gaius said, giving Arthur a cheerful pat on the back, “then it’ll be clearer what you need to do.”

Arthur left after that, not finding much more to say.

Closing the door to Gaius’ quarters behind him, Arthur felt a stab of guilt for the old man. Gaius was a magical, who had been at Uther’s side when the above-ground war reached its peak. When Uther became in charge of the Fortress, Gaius had come too, sick of seeing bloodshed and wanting to help end the war in any way he could.

But he was confined to his quarters, not allowed to enter the Fortress proper as, despite the numerous good works Gaius had done, Uther still did not trust him.

Arthur didn’t know if he could bear to be trapped so far below ground, but reasoned Gaius must be used to it by now. Anyway, there was no question as to whether Gaius could ever leave the Fortress, in that sense he was much a prisoner. But at least his quarters were comfortable.

He went slower on his way back up the stairs, mentally working through a list of everything he would need to do before nightfall, if only to distract himself from the coming challenge.

They hadn’t experienced a magical attack for the past few weeks, and Arthur mused that perhaps it would be wise to seal off the top few levels of the complex, in case of danger.

He was so busy strategizing he almost missed the landing where he needed to exit. As he stepped out, he came face to face with Cenred. He made to move past him, but was stopped by a hand to his shoulder.

“A word, Pendragon.”

“If you must, Cen, I’m busy.”

“Yes, I know, busy finding out a way to win the war. Very noble. Also very stupid. Want to know why?”

Arthur gave Cenred a dark glare because this was undoubtedly one of his mind games and Arthur really wasn’t interested.

“I’ve just heard a very interesting conversation between your father and Aredian. You in particular would be rather concerned as to what they said.”

Arthur scoffed, trying not to show that maybe he actually was interested. “You do realise my father would have you chucked out if he found out that you’d been eavesdropping?”

“You’re going to end up dead,” Cenred said, obviously enjoying the effect this statement had on Arthur. “If you go above-ground.”

“Touching as your concern is, Cen,” Arthur replied with a roll of his eyes. “Like Valiant said, is this just your way of saying you’re a coward?”

“Oh, it’s no skin off my nose if that’s what you think of me,” Cenred said, smirking slightly. “But don’t say I didn’t warn you.” With that cryptic threat, he turned and headed for the stairs, leaving Arthur to puzzle out whether or not he had actually been serious.

After a moment, he dismissed it. It was probably Cenred’s way of trying to get under his skin before the challenge. Cenred had been playing on the strained father-son relationship for years. This was nothing new.

As night drew in, the lamps were dimmed even more, meaning Arthur had to do most of his work by torchlight.

His suggestion to evacuate the top floors was dismissed by his father, saying there was no reason to panic.

However, Arthur still felt uneasy, it was uncommon for them to go this long without an attack, so he warned people away from the entrances and exits on the tops floors, and directed as many as he could to go to the lower levels.

There wasn’t much room, though, and the corridors grew increasingly crowded.

Arthur went about his usual tasks: checking that the security measures on the doors were still tamper proof to both magical and mundane tampering; updating the files on any new arrivals; making rough forecasts for how long their current stores would last before a group would have to undertake an above-ground mission to collect more; and cleaning and polishing all his weapons in the armoury.

Lastly, rubbing sleep from his eyes, he headed to the gym, determined to get in his usual routine of exercises in before bed.

He was halfway through a set of push-ups when the first explosion hit.

The force toppled him for a moment and there was a moment of blind confusion as all the lights flickered out.

The lighting was only gone for a moment, though, and Arthur’s training kicked in a moment later. An attack was nothing new, it was almost muscle memory for Arthur now.

He took to the stairs at a run, blocking out the screams and panicked shouting from the civilians.

When he saw people, he took the opportunity to tell them to get lower, barking orders to the other soldiers and shouting at people to get out of his way.

He reached the top level and had to throw all his weight against the door to force it open.

The civilians appeared to have cleared the area, presumably taking other staircases down. He hoped no one would be stupid enough to try to use the elevator this time; it had taken hours to get them out last time.

Another explosion rocked the ground, much more forceful now Arthur was a few levels up. The lighting was flickering at odd intervals and Arthur strapped his torch to his shoulder, wishing he hadn’t left his helmet in his bunkroom that morning.

The first level armoury did not contain the greatest selection of weapons, the main armoury being a few floors down, but there was enough for Arthur to grab a pair of guns and on his way out he picked up a long bladed knife, in case everything else failed.

A few soldiers had made it up by the time Arthur re-entered the corridor, and he was relieved to see Leon among them.

Explosions were shaking the complex every few seconds now, and everyone was finding it hard to keep their balance.

“How are we holding up?” Arthur asked Leon, at the same time directing some of the other men to go across the level and barricade the doors to the lower levels.

“The doors are still holding, sir,” Leon replied, gesturing for Arthur to walk a little way with him. “We should set up attack posts, however, the shield strength is failing.”

Arthur nodded, and more soldiers headed off after a few instructions.

“Failing how fast?” he asked grimly.

“At the rate they’re going,” Leon replied, throwing out a hand to brace against the wall as the ground shook again. “We’ve got about five minutes.”

Arthur swore, running a hand through his hair.

“I can reinforce them,” he said after a moment, “from the east terminal, it should still have enough power.”

“Arthur, if they get through, that’ll be where they do,” Leon warned, but Arthur was already heading off at a run.

“Make sure the civilians are off this level and barricade the entrances if you have to,” he ordered. “I won’t be long!” he threw back over his shoulder, trying to give Leon something of a hopeful smile before he rounded the corner.

The east terminal had the most advanced technology, and Arthur hoped he’d be able to reinforce the shield strength of the entrances, if only he could get there in time.

The corridors were once again plunged into darkness, and Arthur caught his foot on a loose rock, stumbling and crashing into the wall.

When the lights flickered back on, there was a woman standing in the corridor.

She was young, more of a girl than woman really, and her long brown hair hung loose around her shoulders.

“What the-?”

Arthur staggered upright, wondering where on earth she had come from.

“Help me, please. I was asleep and then the explosions started. I was scared.”

“Why didn’t you get below?” Arthur demanded, realising time was slipping away, the sorcerers could get through at any moment.

She flinched at his harsh tone, and he forced himself to calm down.

“Sorry, what’s your name?”

“Sophia,” she replied, taking a tentative step towards him.

As the lights flickered again, her eyes seemed to glow, and for a moment Arthur completely forgot why he was there.

“I’m Arthur,” he said eventually, coming to terms with the fact she was now standing very close. “We really should be moving, it’s not safe.”

He took her arm to steer her towards the nearest stairwell, but she placed her hand over his and said something too soft for Arthur to hear.

“No,” she continued, “let’s go this way.”

Without protest, Arthur followed after her, feeling dazed. The noise of the explosions faded and suddenly the only thing he wanted to do was follow Sophia.

She led him to the east terminal, part of him feeling thankful, this being where he had intended to go after all, but when she let go of his arm to open the door, some clarity returned.

“You can’t go in there,” he said. He took a step back, shaking his head, trying to clear the fogginess that was settling over everything.

“I know,” Sophia replied, “that’s why I brought you.”

This time, she must have been a little slower, because Arthur caught the flash in her eyes, and his muddled brain had enough time to put two and two together.

“You’re a sorcerer!” he stammered out, stumbling away from her, his hand going for his pistol.

Sophia rolled her eyes. “Genius.”

She incanted another spell and the guns flew from Arthur’s belt where he had holstered them. The spell slid off the knife, however, without affect.

“Come here,” she said, her voice ringing with authority that made Arthur’s head ache.

“N-no.” Arthur was trying to get away, but somehow found himself back at her side.

She took his hand and once again Arthur was plunged into a sense of blissful unconcern.

“Let us into the room,” she ordered, and dumbly, Arthur keyed in his code and pushed the door open.

The terminal was buzzing with electrical currents, the generators powering the security feeds, locking mechanisms, and entrance security all whirring away.

Red lights were flashing, but somehow Arthur didn’t feel troubled.

“Release the doors,” Sophia said, her grip on his hand incredibly tight.

Somewhere, in the back of Arthur’s head, he was fighting to hold onto the tiniest sliver of clarity … but it was a losing battle.

After a moment’s typing and pushing buttons, the lights flashed to grey as all locks on the first level disengaged, and the security measures were disabled.

“Very good,” Sophia said with a smile, and then pushed him aside.

She reached up and tapped an earpiece that Arthur hadn’t seen before.

“You’re all good to go,” she said, her eyes lingering on Arthur, a dark smirk playing round her lips.

No longer fighting off Sophia’s enchantment, Arthur sprang to his feet, horror pooling in his belly as he realised what he had done.

“No!” He made a dive for the terminal console, but a wave of magic hit him and knocked him back. He rolled to avoid the impact, his hand going for the knife at his belt, but before he could spring back at Sophia, a hand grabbed his collar, pulling him onto his knees and brutally cutting off his air supply.

“Was he causing you trouble?” a man’s voice asked.

Sophia turned from where she had been watching the displays and snorted.

“Him? He was easy. Pathetically so.”

“You’ve done well,” the man said, tightening his grip on Arthur’s collar as Arthur fought to get away. “But you should head back to the surface now, it’ll be too dangerous down below.”

Sophia’s expression soured.

“No, father, I’m staying here. I’m the one who got us in in the first place, I’m not going back now.”

The man behind Arthur, presumably Sophia’s father, sighed.

“Sophia, you are only a child. And you will do as I say!”

“No!”

Sophia stamped her foot, her eyes glowing red, and the hand holding Arthur suddenly released. He toppled forward, choking for air.

“How dare you!”

“I’m not a child!”

The pair were distracted, and in one movement, Arthur spun around and drove the knife into the man’s chest.

Across the room, Sophia shrieked in anger and horror, but she too, was too slow to react as Arthur turned once more, the blade spinning from his hand and catching Sophia right over the heart, her spell sliding off it without affect.

She collapsed not far from her father, and Arthur had one moment of terrified silence before his senses caught up to him and he sprang to the controls, hands flying over the buttons and keyboard as he re-engaged the locks and forced the security measures back up to one hundred percent.

He could hear shouting and screaming from the corridor beyond, obviously Sophia and her father had not arrived alone.

Collecting his knife, he ran to the door, sparing one last glance back at the father and daughter, panic and terror combining, so for a moment he couldn’t act.

It had been so easy for her.

A few minutes more, and they would all have been dead.

A bang rocked the walls, and Arthur snapped himself out of it. He was a soldier, and he had a duty to protect his people.

Smoke and dust filled the corridor beyond, the lights flickering and everything in chaos. A group of Arthur’s soldiers were in combat with four sorcerers, flashes of light filling the space and the ground at their feet cracking from the force of their spells.

The soldiers were still holding their ground, however, having learned since birth how to fight magic, how to win.

Arthur ran to their aid, turning the knife in his grasp and stabbing a sorcerer between the ribs, mid-spell.

His appearance surprised the other sorcerers, and the moment’s hesitation on their part was all Arthur’s men needed to bring them down with a few well aimed bullets.

Leon was in the group and he came to Arthur’s side immediately as they set off at a run towards where they could hear more fighting.

“What on earth happened?” Leon shouted over the noise. “Why did you disengage the locks?”

“I’ll explain later,” Arthur replied, anger in his tone because he was ashamed at how helpless he’d been to the girl’s magic.

His father would be furious.

The lights died as they rounded a corner, but both Arthur’s torch and the sudden burst of flames from the sorcerer there was enough to illuminate the scene.

Arthur set his jaw and ducked for cover, the knife in his hand and his heart in his throat.

Counting down from five, he turned and dove into the battle once more.

* * *

The metal grating under his feet clanked noisily as Merlin ducked from the cover of his doorway and onto the steps beyond.

Night had fallen, but the rain that had started earlier that day hadn’t eased. Shadows clung to the buildings and thunder rolled overhead.

Merlin tugged his collar up and pulled his coat tighter around himself. He was going to get wet.

Will would point out that really he should just use magic to deflect the rain, thereby staying dry and also acting like any normal magical did.

But Merlin wasn’t a normal magical. Not in the slightest.

The rain somehow got underneath his collar and by the time he reached the bottom of the stairs he was thoroughly soaked through.

The street was deserted, the rain pooling in puddles and running in miniature rivers between the cobbles. Muck and grime ran towards the drains, but even the downpour couldn’t wash away the filth which lay thick upon the ground.

The city was dirty. Soot hung in the air and the buildings were slick with slime.

Even in the daylight, Merlin’s world wasn’t much better. Daylight showed only worried faces and scurrying passers-by, people too scared to even look up because catching the wrong eye, or getting oneself noticed by the wrong people, could end in death.

Merlin had more than enough power to protect himself, but the area where he lived still had a significant non-magical population, and the fear of war got under everyone’s skin.

He was heading towards the local bar, streetlights illuminating the way with their strange yellow glow. Electricity was nothing like magic, but the magicals still saw it had its uses, and even Merlin doubted he’d be able to power a city.

The bar wasn’t far from Merlin’s flat, and after a block or two, he was able to make out the pale glow of its lights through the rain.

Rainwater trickled down his neck and he shivered uncomfortably. Maybe he shouldn’t have come out tonight.

But the way things were going, he and his friends were going to have to take every opportunity they could to see one another. The threat against non-magicals was always growing, and soon Merlin doubted it would be safe for them to leave their houses.

He had suggested to them more than once that they should go into hiding. There were places for non-magicals to go. Like the Haven, or the Fortress. Gwaine had scoffed. Will had laughed. And Lancelot had quietly shaken his head.

His friends were not cowards.

However, even they could see life was only going to become more difficult.

He finally reached the bar, ignoring the magic scanner which had been vandalised and broken beyond repair years ago.

The bar was open to magicals and non-magicals alike. Yes, there were brawls, occasionally people got hurt, and no one ever played poker with a magical because they cheated, but in general they all got along, the crowd of locals accepting and understanding.

It was the nearest to home that Merlin got.

Dim lights hung from the ceiling, shadows shrouding the corners. Booths took up three of the four walls, and the bar took up the fourth. A scattering of rickety tables and chairs covered the floor space, their surfaces scratched, stained and burned.

Bar brawls were always entertaining.

Mellow music filtered through the scratchy sound system, but it was just background noise. No one ever danced.

The owner, Percival, greeted Merlin with a nod from behind the bar.

Most people were unsure as to whether Percival actually had magic or not. People didn’t ask because they didn’t dare.

Merlin was able to sense the magic – or lack of it in Percival’s case – but even he would still think twice about taking on someone Percival’s size.

“Here he is!” came a jovial cry from the booth in the corner, and Merlin turned to find, Gwaine, Lancelot, Gwen, Elyan, and Will already waiting at the table.

“We’ve been waiting hours for you,” Will griped, shuffling over so there would be room for Merlin on the bench seat.

“Yeah, well, I had things to do,” Merlin replied, shoving Will half-heartedly.

“Things to do.” Will rolled his eyes. “Merlin, mate, you barely leave the house.”

“Well if you’re the only company on offer, Will,” Gwaine replied, “I don’t blame him.”

Gwaine was leaning back in his seat, a sly grin on his face, but his gaze directed elsewhere. Merlin guessed it was directed at Percival.

“We thought something might have happened,” Gwen said.

“No, the streets are quiet tonight,” Merlin replied, struggling out of his coat and shaking it to get the rainwater off.

“First time in ages,” Lancelot said with a grimace. “We weren’t sure if we would be able to come,” he added, giving Gwen’s hand a squeeze where they lay clasped on the table.

“I wanted to talk to you about that,” Merlin said, taking his chance whilst the opportunity presented itself.

“Not this again,” Will said flatly. Around the table, the others made similar noises of disagreement with Merlin’s words.

“You just said you weren’t sure if you’d come!” Merlin protested, waving a hand in Lance and Gwen’s direction.

“Yes, but Merlin, some things are more important than a bit of a roughing up on the street.” Elyan said.

“Roughing up,” Merlin said dryly, raising an eyebrow. “You could _die_.”

“Yes, Merlin, we’re quite well aware of that,” Gwen said quietly.

Merlin pursed his lips and sat back in his seat.

“Anyway, we had to meet,” Lance said. “Elyan found something.”

There was a collective show of interest around the table, even Gwaine paused in his ogling of Percival.

“Well,” Elyan ducked his head, a little embarrassed. “It’s nothing much, but it might change things.”

“What is it?”

Elyan glanced around, to check their booth wasn’t being observed and then leant forward.

“The rumour is some non-magicals in the Fortress have discovered a way to block magic. Make it inaccessible.”

“To _block_ magic?” Gwaine demanded. “What? Make them like us?”

The others were leaning forward, interest and excitement in their expressions, but Merlin had to lean back. He felt a nauseating lurch in his stomach.

“ _Gwaine_.” Gwen at least, had noticed Merlin’s discomfort.

“Sorry,” Gwaine said after a beat. “But even Merlin can see that that’d have its uses. All the bad magic users out there could be stopped. We’d be equals.”

“And who would decide who a _bad magic user_ was?” Merlin asked softly. “Who’s to stop the non-magicals using them on everyone?”

Gwaine closed his mouth, looking a little guilty. 

“You said this could change things Elyan,” Gwen said, “what would you see happening.”

“Well …” Elyan shot an awkward look in Merlin’s direction. “It’s like Gwaine said. If we took out the top level … Most people are willing to accept others, magical or not. It’s only those with power who are fighting the war.”

“Yeah, but blocking magic is only one step away from controlling magic. And that wouldn’t make us equals, it would make us slaves,” Merlin snapped, and turned away, unable to continue.

A grim silence fell over the table.

“Sometimes,” Gwen said, after a long pause, “you begin to wonder if there will ever be peace.”

“The people would need a leader,” Lance broke in. “Someone to rally behind. If we could just show them that magicals and non-magicals can live in peace …”

“A leader?”

“Yeah, someone like … well someone like Merlin, I guess.”

Merlin felt the eyes of the table on him and he looked around, uneasy with the trust his friends were putting in him.

“I’m not a leader,” he said. “I don’t … that’s not how I work.”

“But you’re the perfect example, Merlin,” Gwen said, an encouraging smile on her lips. “Someone with magic who lives among non-magicals. Who doesn’t hurt them—,” she broke off, perhaps seeing the way the light shut off behind Merlin’s eyes.

“I can’t lead.” Merlin repeated. “Look at me. Hiding away in my flat. I barely even use my powers anymore. And I can’t … I just can’t. To lead means making decisions, and I always seem to end up hurting people. I try to do good … and it just goes wrong.”

He stood up suddenly from the table, the memory of Freya’s broken body flashing before his eyes.

“I’ll see you again soon, I guess,” he said, then grabbed his coat and left.

Outside, the rain was still falling. Merlin threw his coat on, murmuring a spell to dry off his damp shirt underneath.

He couldn’t accept the role his friends were trying to place on him. He cared for them all so much … _too much_. And he couldn’t bear to lose any of them.

Sometimes he thought it might just be easier to slip away into hiding. His friends would be safe. The world could carry on doing what it wanted and eventually the war would burn itself out. It would be easy to stand by.

But in his heart, Merlin knew that would never happen.

He had never been able to stand by, had never been able to not help someone in need. He needed to do good. Otherwise existence seemed pointless, and nothing really mattered. 

He only wished that somehow he could keep everyone safe in the process, but the world was rarely so kind.

The streetlights were flickering. There must be a fight of some sort going on somewhere if the electricity was draining. Nothing was stable in this world, nothing secure.

He cast a glance back over his shoulder at the diminishing light of the pub and wondered if he should go back and stay a little longer.

He shook his head to himself and carried on, his boots splashing in the puddles.

Unexpectedly, the streetlights around him flickered and died. His world suddenly plunged to darkness, it took Merlin a moment to collect his thoughts and utter a spell so a ball of pale blue light appeared in his palm.

He once again looked back towards the bar. They still had power, but perhaps he should go back and offer to make sure the others got home safely. Even on the best of nights it wasn’t safe on the streets, and in the dark, his friends were vulnerable to attack.

Merlin had just turned back when a hand clamped down on his shoulder, making him jump.

He spun around, his free hand raised to take on the unknown foe.

His blue ball of light lit up a woman, her blonder hair tucked under the hood of her cloak and her pale face stark in the glow from Merlin’s light.

“I apologise,” she said. “I startled you.”

“It’s fine,” Merlin replied warily, only lowering his hand a little.

“You’re Merlin Ambrosius, aren’t you?” she said after a moment, her brown eyes gazing at Merlin with a strange intensity.

“How do you know my name?” Merlin replied, all too quickly realising he’d answered her question.

“Many people know your name, Merlin.” She paused, and then added in a chilling tone. “Not all of them friendly.”

“Oh, and you’re one of the friendly ones?” Merlin raised an eyebrow.

“I’m better than most,” the woman replied, a twisted smile on her lips. “I could help you.”

“Not interested. Excuse me, but I have to go and meet my friends.”

He made to turn around again, but she caught his arm.

“ _Friends_ with non-magicals.” She snorted a little. “Forgive me if the idea seems a little absurd.”

“You’re not forgiven,” Merlin snapped back, pulling his arm from her grip.

She narrowed her eyes slightly. “If you will not accept my offer of help, at least accept my warning. Your name is known, Merlin. More than just for who you are, but for who you will become, and many are acting, seeking you out. You will soon find that I am not the only person who finds you in a cold dark street, and that perhaps, I am the least of your worries.”

Merlin stared, trying to take in what she was saying without showing emotion. Part of him wanted to laugh it off, but at the same time her words struck a chord deep inside him, and he couldn’t seem to shake it off.

“Sure,” he said eventually.

The woman observed him, perhaps knowing her words had affected Merlin more than he was letting on.

“My name is Morgause,” she responded.“Remember that, if you ever need a friend.”

Merlin felt a well of distrust bubble up, but sensing the conversation was at an end, turned back towards the pub, not looking back in Morgause’s direction as he walked away.

The streetlights flashed back to life and Merlin was able to douse the magical orb in his hand.

He turned to look back over his shoulder, but Morgause was gone.

Shivering from an equal mix of cold and unease, he spun around to head towards home once more. His friends would take the opportunity whilst the lights were working to get home … and he didn’t know if he would have been able to face them anyway.

Morgause’s words echoed loudly in his head. He wondered if it were just a method of manipulation or whether there actually were many people after him.

Why was he so special anyway? What had he ever done which meant people would seek him out? He was powerful, yes. But he lived in little more than poverty and never wielded his power wastefully.

But people didn’t see him as a person. They saw his power. Saw him as a weapon, a soldier, a tool.

He hugged his arms around himself, trying to ward off the chill, and carried on down the street.

Back at his flat, after he’d climbed the multiple floors to his door, he pushed aside the wooden door that he never bothered locking because he had wards to keep out those he didn’t want to see, and pulled his coat off.

The living room of the flat was shabby and a little tired looking.

With a wave of his hand a dozen or so candles burst into light, perched precariously about the room on top of dusty volumes, or along the top of the heater that he’d never used.

The walls were a faded blue colour, the plain wallpaper occasionally interrupted by a picture – all landscapes – and the furniture looked worn and sagging.

A single silver picture frame was propped up on the back of the beige settee, showing Merlin aged three and his mother, her arms around him and both their faces split in identical smiles.

He paused for a moment, to look at the photo, sadness welling up in him because that carefree happiness in the photo was something neither he nor his mother had known much of in the years that followed.

After a beat, he looked away. Being sentimental wouldn’t get him anywhere.

He tossed his coat over the arm of the armchair and then kicked off his boots. Crossing the room, he entered the kitchen on the far side, flicked the light switch and the scratched and chipped work surfaces and battered cupboard doors were thrown into relief in the pale yellow light.

He felt tired.

He leant against the counter, tilting his head back and gazing, unseeing at the ceiling.

Morgause’s words, it seemed, were ingrained on his memory and his magic thrummed under his skin at the deeper message in what she had said.

Something was calling him, something old, something ancient. He could feel it in his bones, but the ache of fatigue was too great and whatever spark had ignited, it was nothing more than the barest flame.

He set about making himself a cup of tea, his body going through the motions as he filled the kettle and set it on the oven top, pulled the teapot out of its corner on the counter, dumped a teabag inside, got a mug from the cupboard, filled it with a little milk.

He caught himself staring out of the window over the dark city, his flat being higher than the building next to it so he could see some way. Rain still ran down the glass and the streetlights gave an eerie yellow glow to the darkness.

The kettle gave a high-pitched whistle, drawing him out of his reverie and he took it from the oven top, pouring the boiling water into the teapot, a cloud of steam billowing upwards.

Silence reigned for another minute as he waited for the tea to stew.

There was a sudden flash of lightning overhead, illuminating the dark world beyond the window. Thunder followed immediately after. The storm must be close then.

Too bored to wait any longer, Merlin poured out the tea, a little of the water splashing out of the pot as he did so and scalding his hand.

He winced and then began to root in the cupboard next to the oven in search of a biscuit. Another flash of lightning overhead accompanied by a boom of thunder and suddenly the kitchen was plunged into darkness.

Merlin bumped his head on the top of the cupboard as he tried to stand up and swore. He stood there, rubbing the back of his head in the darkness for a moment before, with a murmured spell, he cast a light and, taking his mug of tea, headed back into the lounge where the candles were all still burning brightly.

The streetlights beyond his windows had all gone out and it seemed for a moment, that beyond his own little brightly lit sitting room, the rest of the world had ceased to exist.

He dropped onto the couch, leaving his mug on top of another pile of books and watching as the steam curled upwards in ever changing patterns.

The back of his head still stung.

He sighed, acknowledging he should probably go to bed. He wouldn’t be fit for work in the morning otherwise.

Some minutes later, he realised he was still sat in his lounge, staring blankly at the opposite wall.

He felt an itch under his skin. A dying fire that was rumbling and sparking up.

_It was a calling, something deep reaching up out of the dry earth, the ground rumbling and fire pouring from the cracks in the soil._

He blinked, the candles in the room flickering in a non-existent breeze.

He pushed himself up on the couch, rubbing the bridge of his nose. He really must be tired.

But despite his best efforts, he couldn’t find the energy to stand up, the candlelight flickering and blurring before his eyes and shivers running down his arms as the room before him faded and an entirely different scene took shape before him.

_There was a castle. Knights in bright red cloaks. A sword, buried in stone, to be weilded only by the one for whom it was forged._

_..._

_The earth was trembling, rock and stone tumbling from above and the lights flickering on and off. Dread and sorrow pooled in his belly and the only thing that drove him on was desperation._

_He can’t be dead. He can’t be._

_His arms were sore from the weight in them. A body._

_Up ahead, the darkness ended and the outside world spread out before him, the ground still shaking and lightning crackling overhead. Rain cascaded down._

_Great cracks were opening up the ground and below came a great horrifying roar of sound. Much like the sound issuing from Merlin’s own throat. It was a roar of defeat._

_He fell to his knees, the soil shifting under him and fire burst from the ground, the downpour of rain unable to quench it._

_With an almighty crack, the ground around him fell away and something great and golden was clawing its way up from out of the earth._

_It paused for a moment, its golden eyes meeting Merlin’s._

_And then it launched itself into the sky._

_Merlin bowed his head, looking down at the body in his arms, but somehow he couldn’t see the face._

_He can’t be dead._

_…_

_It was still raining._

* * *

Morgana shot up in bed, a scream on her lips and her eyes wide. Her breath came in sharp pants and her heart was racing.

After a moment, she calmed down, her eyes travelling to the bracelet on her wrist.

There was a bang as the door to her rooms burst open.

“Sister. I heard your distress.” Morgause was there, her expression filled with concern.

“The bracelet didn’t block it out,” Morgana said quietly. “I saw … I saw terrible things.”

Morgause sat on her bed, taking Morgana’s hands in her own.

“What did you see sister?”

“Fire. And … and rain.”

Morgana pressed her lips together, shaking her head slightly.

“It was all over. The end.”

Her grip on Morgause’s hands tightened suddenly.

“He’s coming.”


	2. Chapter 2

“You have let me down, Arthur.” Uther’s words were cold and blunt. Arthur kept his head bowed, not daring to look up and meet his father’s gaze.

It was just the two of them, standing in Uther’s office, no more than a few feet apart, but Arthur felt like a great wall of ice had grown between them. It was dark in the room and the low ceiling meant he felt penned in. Trapped under the weight of his father’s disappointment.

They’d won the battle, despite Arthur mistakes. Their knowledge of the complex was far greater than the sorcerers’ and so, by biding their time, they’d been able to take them down one by one. Not a single civilian had been injured or killed. None of Arthur’s men had died.

But that was in no way thanks to Arthur.

“I have trained you all your life and still you fall at the first step.” Uther’s mouth twisted in a scowl. “I expected more, Arthur.”

Arthur bit his tongue, holding back his defence because he had learned from experience that nothing good came of it.

“Evidently you are not able to compete in the challenge. The task will be passed onto someone more able.”

Arthur’s head shot up at that because Uther couldn’t be serious.

“No, I’m sorry, Arthur. You’re clearly not ready to take this on.”

Arthur’s lips parted in a silent protest, his chest constricting - he’d worked so hard for this - but Uther turned away from Arthur and headed to sit at his desk, throwing Arthur off.

“I defeated them, father,” he forced out. “No casualties occurred. Did I really fail so badly?”

He knew, before the words were even out of his mouth, that it was the wrong question to ask.

“To fall to magic is always a failure,” Uther responded, his lips thin and his eyes narrowed. “If you were to go on the mission, and go above ground, what would you do if another such spell was cast over you? Evidently you are incapable of truly fighting off such an enchantment. We could not risk losing you.”

For a moment, Arthur naively believed that his father’s words were meant in care.

“You would give up our secrets with only the barest spell. You know too much Arthur, and are therefore a liability.”

A cold block settled in Arthur’s stomach and he closed his mouth, holding back what he had been about to say. After a moment, he took a shaky breath.

“I have always tried to make you proud, father. I am sorry that I am seen as nothing more than a _liability_.”

He turned on his heel and left the room, not waiting for a dismissal.

Shame coiled in his belly, but at the same time he felt angry. After everything he had done and this was his reward. He had always been fighting against his father’s expectations and guessed that perhaps he always would be. But a small part of him wanted to fight back.

He couldn’t _stand_ this anymore.

Upon leaving the room he walked straight into Cenred, and there was a dark smirk on the man’s face.

Arthur reacted instinctively, ramming Cenred back up against the wall, his arm across the man’s throat.

“Listening at keyholes are we, Cenred?” Arthur spat.

“Someone’s a little angry,” Cenred replied, still smirking despite Arthur best attempts to cut off his airway. “Daddy not happy?”

“Get out of here,” Arthur replied, not rising to Cenred’s baiting and pushing him away.

“Of course, I can’t complain,” Cenred mused, his quick eyes waiting for Arthur’s reaction. “I’ll easily win the challenge now. The mission’s mine.”

“I thought you said I would end up dead?” Arthur responded, his eyes narrowing.

“Yes, _you_ would have,” Cenred said, a hint of smugness in his expression, as if he knew something that Arthur didn’t.

“But you won’t?” Arthur asked, inflicting as much sarcasm as he could into his tone. “Please, Cenred, I don’t have time for this.”

“Your dad and Aredian had a plan you see, except daddy must have got cold feet. They were going to send you out there and get you killed. The perfect martyr for their cause.”

“Well, there you go. I’m not going to die. Happy now?” Arthur started walking, the tension rolling off him in waves as he tried not to let Cenred’s words get to him.

“Just think on what I’ve said,” Cenred called after him.

His thoughts in turmoil, Arthur stalked away, shouldering his way through the groups of people scattered about the corridors, not entirely sure where he was even going.

He needed air, a chance to breathe.

Never before had the Fortress felt so suffocating.

He was angry at Cenred. Angry at his father. But above all, angry at himself.

How could he have let an opportunity like this slip away? Now Cenred, in all his smugness, would reap the rewards of Arthur's months of hard work.

Feeling like a small child, Arthur bitterly decided that it just wasn't fair.

Beyond that, he couldn't decide what to make of Cenred's strange threats either.

The idea that his father might be plotting to kill him was a hard one to contemplate, but somehow it had got under Arthur's skin, and he couldn't help himself from turning it over and over in his mind.

If his father were planning it, then surely sending Arthur above ground seemed logical. Arthur didn't doubt that his father had contacts above ground and it would be all too easy to finish Arthur off, defenceless in the magical world.

A bitter, twisted part of him actually saw the benefits of such actions. Uther would have a martyr, a rallying point for the non-magical forces.

But then, why stop Arthur from going altogether - which might be, as Cenred said, Uther getting cold feet - but at the same time ...

None of it made sense.

He slowed to a halt, his feet having carried him to his bunkroom without thought.

After the strain of the previous night and the meeting with his father, the only thing Arthur wanted to do was sleep.

He pushed open the door, his hand reaching for the switch on the wall, and as the light flickered on, it illuminated his drab living space.

A single bed stood against one wall, the blankets neatly tucked and folded, not a single crease in the covers. Next to it was Arthur's desk, a small, narrow piece of furniture that looked like it had somehow survived three world wars and was now very much on its last legs.

By the door, a chest of drawers contained all the clothing Arthur owned, and on the other side, at the end of the bed, three pairs of boots, shined to a mirror surface, sat in a row.

Everything was neat, tidy. Dull.

Except one object caught Arthur’s eye. Sat on the table next to the folder regarding the mission was a small box and a scrap of paper was sat next to it.

“ _It seems you’ll be needing this. Use it when the time is right._ ” Arthur read.

He stared at the note for a few moments longer. Well. That was cryptic.

He studied the note for a beat longer, realising he recognised the handwriting. Then his gaze slid to the box, and suddenly everything made sense.

With trembling hands, he opened the box, a few pills tumbling out.

_What was Gaius playing at?_

A knock came on his door and he hurriedly stuffed the pills back into the box and slipped the box into a drawer in his desk, just as the door opened.

Leon stuck his head around the door, giving Arthur a somewhat sympathetic grimace.

“Uther says you’re to come and watch the challenge,” he said.

“Naturally,” Arthur replied, rigging up a façade of indifference. He knew Leon would see through it, they’d known each other too long, but he felt he had to prepare himself for what was to come.

“Arthur …” Leon looked awkward, and it was the _pity_ that Arthur couldn’t stand.

“Leave it, Leon,” he said sharply. “That’s an order. This is between myself and my father.”

“It should be you,” Leon said, barrelling ahead despite Arthur’s command. “Not Cenred, not Valiant, not whichever of those jerks gets to go.”

“But it isn’t,” Arthur said, moving to the door, he gave Leon a meaningful glare to signify the conversation was at an end.

Leon looked like he wanted to say more, but gave way to Arthur’s authority.

“Just a shame it won’t be you,” Arthur said, his cheerful tone sounding far too fake. Leon wouldn’t be able to compete in the challenge as he was not part of Uther’s inner council. Arthur had fought for Leon’s involvement for years, Leon was a just and fair man, and a good soldier, but his father had never listened.

“I wouldn’t feel right, going in your place,” Leon replied, falling into step beside Arthur as they headed through the maze of corridors.

Uther would hold the challenge in the meeting hall, the same level as Arthur’s room and five levels below the surface. The meeting hall was the largest area they had where people could congregate and general announcements could be made, so Uther obviously intended for the challenge to be a public affair, to make sure his champion would not crumble under the pressures of onlookers.

Onlookers wouldn’t really be the problem during the task, though, Arthur thought wryly. The challenge had no means for the candidates to be tested against magic. On that score, Uther was a firm believer that strength, speed and agility could outwit any opponent.

Arthur had clearly failed in his father’s eyes. Still, he thought bitterly, he would like to have seen Cenred go up against that Sophia girl.

When they reached the meeting hall, the tension was palpable in the air. A crowd had gathered, filling the sides of the room and leaving a wide circle in the middle.

Arthur and Leon entered on one side, immediately spotting a small group of men clustered on the other side, Cenred and Valiant among them.

Arthur kept to the back of the crowd, making sure he could still see without being seen.

His plan failed, however, as shortly after they arrived, Aredian pushed his way through the crowd to Arthur’s side.

“Pendragon. A shame to hear you won’t be competing.”

Arthur forced himself not to rise at Aredian’s sardonic tone, the task made even more difficult after what Cenred had said about Aredian and Uther’s plans.

“Well, I suppose I will learn something from this,” he replied through gritted teeth. “And I trust my father’s judgement.”

“Of course, with his years of experience, we all have something to learn from Uther,” Aredian said. “But even he has his faults, dare I say it. He’s like you, Arthur. He lets his emotions cloud his judgement.”

Arthur set his jaw, not trusting himself to respond. He’d never heard a less accurate description of his father. But Aredian’s comment still had his gut churning at the thought of Uther supposedly getting cold feet on sending Arthur out.

Leon noticed Arthur’s discomfort and came swiftly to his rescue.

“Will you be competing, Aredian?” he asked.

“Ah, no,” Aredian replied, a look of faux disappointment crossing his face. “An old war wound has been giving me trouble, I wouldn’t want to risk it.”

“Some might call that cowardice,” Arthur said quietly.

“Others would call it wise,” Aredian responded smoothly, giving Arthur a tight smile. “Ah, there’s your father,” he said. “I must go.”

As soon as Aredian was out of earshot, Arthur left out an angry breath.

“Old war wound,” Leon said, scowling. “Who does he think he’s kidding?”

Arthur was silent, Aredian’s reluctance to go on the mission adding to his myriad of doubts on his father’s motives and plans.

Not that it mattered now. He wouldn’t be going. That solved that.

His mind drifted to the box upstairs. Gaius obviously intended for him to go anyway, and Arthur really needed to talk to the old man about sneaking around the complex, and all of a sudden there seemed to be too many ulterior motives, too many puppeteers trying to snatch at Arthur’s strings.

The decision would be his alone, he decided.

It took him a moment longer, and the image of finally living up to his father’s expectations flashing across his mind’s eye, to realise that his mind was already made up.

Uther stepped from the crowd into the middle of the circle, his eyes narrowed as he surveyed those gathered there.

He was an imposing figure, his clothes cut in sharp lines, all dark colours and immaculately kept.

“A challenge is to be held,” he said. “It shall follow the usual rules. Contenders will fight, two at a time, the winner progresses to the next round.”

There was a pause and Uther gave the contenders a heavy look, filled with expectation.

“The first round will be hand-to-hand combat.”

It was one of the most frustrating experiences of Arthur’s life. He watched as the pool of competitors steadily dwindled, the rounds progressing from hand-to-hand, to maces, to quarterstaffs.

Kay lost to Ebor in the first round, but Ebor never made it past Dagr whose mace work was brutal. Arthur wasn’t sure if Ebor’s knee was broken – not that he really cared – but the tension was building as Ebor limped away.

Arthur hadn’t realised how much this mission would mean. Just how far Uther’s man would be willing to go.

Dagr lost to Valiant in the quarterstaff, and Cenred floored Geraint, meaning the final round – swords – was between the two people Arthur least wanted to see taking the task that was meant to be his own.

“We could leave, if you want,” Leon suggested quietly.

Arthur shook his head. His father would see. His father would know.

And anyway, he had too much pride to show how ashamed he was at missing out.

Cenred and Valiant, both the worse for wear from previous rounds, faced each other down across the circle.

Arthur watched intently, his eyes scanning for every weakness, every hesitation.

It was Cenred who attacked first, subtlety lost as he charged at Valiant, his sword coming down towards Valiant’s chest in a vicious arc.

Valiant parried the blow, the steel of both blades ringing from the impact.

There was complete silence for a beat, and then Valiant threw his weight behind his blade, pressing forwards and throwing Cenred on the defence.

It continued in much the same way, attack, defence, and before long, Arthur could see both men were tiring. Their fighting styles were too similar, too unimaginative. Arthur had seen half a dozen or more opportunities for both men to have taken the advantage. They both relied on brute strength too much.

Eventually Valiant slipped, not quite meeting Cenred’s blow in time, and Cenred seized the opportunity, knocking Valiant’s feet from under him and levelling his sword at Valiant’s throat.

For a moment, the crowd was still, and then half-hearted applause broke out.

Cenred spat on the ground, and wiped the back of his hand across his mouth, an ugly scowl on his face.

Valiant scrambled up and away from Cenred’s blade, looking disgruntled.

As the challenge was clearly over, the crowd began to thin, the _entertainment_ at an end.

Leon nudged Arthur, but Arthur had already see Uther beckoning him, and knew he wouldn’t be able to slip away unnoticed.

He crossed the space and, swallowing his pride, held out his hand to Cenred.

“Congratulations,” he said shortly.

“It was nothing,” Cenred grunted. He looked exhausted, obviously wiped out by the exertion of the challenge. Or perhaps it had only just hit him exactly what the mission would entail.

“Arthur will brief you on the task in more detail,” Uther said. “He is most familiar with it. You’ll leave in three days.”

With that, Uther turned and walked away.

Arthur watched his father go, discomfort churning in his belly as he thought on how much his father’s mood had soured since Arthur had presented the mission proposal the other day.

For a short while then, Arthur had believed his father to be proud of him.

But time had taught him that that was rarely the case.

“You’ll be disappointed, of course,” Cenred said, a sneer in his tone.

Arthur rolled his eyes. “I could have taken you easily,” he replied.

Cenred snorted. “Just keep telling yourself that, Pendragon.”

Arthur grit his teeth.

“Why don’t we find out?”

Cenred looked at Arthur, raising an eyebrow. “What, now? That wouldn’t be like you, Pendragon. Hardly a fair fight when I’ve just fought four rounds already.”

“Fine. Tomorrow then. Sure that’ll be enough time to recover?” he asked, making sure to keep the condescension heavy in his tone. “After all, if it was really all _nothing_ to you-”

“Tomorrow. I look forward to it.” Cenred gave Arthur a mocking smile

Arthur levelled Cenred’s smile with a smirk of his own.

“I look forward to winning.”

Having delivered his parting shot, Arthur turned his back on Cenred, now even more aware of how much he needed to sleep.

But he had plans to make, too. Breaking out of the Fortress would not be simple.

* * *

The day had dawned a steely grey, the sun never quite seeming to make it through the clouds.

Merlin had headed from his flat, thankful the rain of the previous day had eased off, and taken the familiar route to his work.

On his way, he passed a boy selling newspapers. He was a few feet past the boy when he actually registered the contents of the headline, and doubled back to pick up a copy.

_THE FORTRESS BREACHED_

Merlin scanned the front page as he walked, phasing out the usual pro-magic propaganda to get as near to the truth as he could.

It appeared in an attack last night, the Fortress’ security measures had failed, and a pro-magicals activist group had breached the Fortress.

The paper named the group as the Sidhe, among them Aulfric and Sophia Tirmor, who had been among the first to enter the complex.

Somehow, however, the non-magicals had fought back, Sophia and Aulfric and the rest either dead or imprisoned somewhere within the Fortress. Merlin had a momentary pang of pity for those captured. Magicals didn’t make a habit of entering the Fortress and coming out alive.

He tossed the paper aside after reading a little more. The news didn’t interest him; in general, it was much the same every day with a healthy dose of propaganda to make it nigh unreadable.

His walk to work wasn’t long, but it was long enough for his mind to drift, even after reading the article in the paper. His thoughts turned to the dream – had it been a dream? – of the previous night. Of the dragon, and the man, and the utmost despair Merlin had felt.

He didn’t know much about prophecies, it wasn’t one of his gifts – or at least, he hadn’t thought it was – and he made up his mind to go and see someone about it after work. He had a few contacts in the magical community who tolerated his relationships with non-magicals, and at this time, he needed guidance.

The streets weren’t busy, but there were enough people about that Merlin felt uneasy. Violence sprung up everywhere these days. Anywhere there was people.

As a powerful magical Merlin felt it his duty to protect those around him … but he’d learned the hard way that he couldn’t save everyone.

A few streets on and he turned left, passing under an old, crumbling stone archway into a narrow street where the buildings rose up on either side and small stalls were set up in their shadow.

Street vendors called out their wares, anything from the usual food, fruit and vegetables, to magical charms and amulets. Most of it was cheap tricks and charms, something any magical with a bit of talent could work up, but every now and then Merlin would pass a stall and the traces of magic would be enough to make him turn his head, or shiver at the sensation. 

Eventually he arrived at his work and he ducked in through the low doorway and passed through the low-ceilinged corridor beyond.

A warm and musty scent met his nose, and his first real smile for days crossed his face. His heart lifted and the seemingly perpetual headache that had been plaguing him for the last few days eased somewhat.

It wasn’t that he liked his work place overly much, or that anything particularly marvellous happened there … it was just as if, for a brief while, time stood still and Merlin could lose himself in his work, ignoring the rest of the world.

The corridor opened out into a large indoor space, high, narrow windows letting in the faint daylight, and in the almost cathedral like space, was filled end to end with rows of towering bookcases.

The shelves were bowed under the weight of countless books; thick tomes covered in dust, small paper-backs, all but disconnected from their faded covers, and stacks and stacks of parchment, scrolls and paper.

The library contained Camelot's largest collection of manuscripts, histories, fiction, and fact, and Merlin often got lost between the rows, searching for a particular thing only to become distracted and find something completely new.

He nodded to the library manager, Geoffrey, who gave him a disapproving look.

“You’re late,” he said.

Merlin plastered on his most charming grin. “But I am here,” he pointed out.

“Hmm.” Geoffrey pursed his lips. “Well get on with … whatever it is you do.”

Merlin grinned again. “I’ll be in mythical beasts today,” he said cheerily, trotting off away from Geoffrey.

“And don’t knock anything over!” Geoffrey’s pained voice floated after him.

Merlin was the only staff member at the library, besides Geoffrey, and neither of them were really sure what his job entailed.

As a powerful magical, his life really should have been quite different. Magicals ruled the world, and for the most part, the more power you had, the higher up the totem pole you were. But Merlin had never sought that life, never wanted it. He and his mother had lived with nothing for many years in an above-ground non-magical community.

Merlin had always hidden his gifts, and even now, when he lived in the magical world, he still kept them quiet.

Making noise attracted attention, and he shrugged off the shivers when he thought about Morgause from the previous night.

His job at the library was simple. He sorted, filed and catalogued various sections, tidied up books and scrolls that had fallen over, dusted and swept and mopped.

But at the same time, he read, and researched, looking for every scrap of information about the world, about history, about how their world had come to be.

Mythical beasts were entirely for a personal reason, however, and after finding a short step ladder, and rummaging through piles and piles of books, he came across a small book with a black leather cover. The title was embossed in neat silver lettering.

_Draca: fyrngemynd_

There was no author, but Merlin had felt the small book calling out to him, like it _wanted_ to be found.

It wasn’t an unusual occurrence, the books had their own sort of magic, and this black book clearly held _something_ important. But after the previous night and the vision, Merlin couldn’t help but be apprehensive about what it might contain.

Dragons were a myth. So how had he seen one tearing the earth apart?

He sat down on the top step of his ladder, leaning back against the bookshelf behind him and flipping the book open.

It fell open on a drawing, a great black dragon spreading its wings across the two pages. Its mouth was open, flames of ink pouring from its throat, and bold strokes with a quill had defined the sharp talons on its hands and feet.

Merlin turned a page and sighed a little in disappointment. The whole book was written in the tongue of the Old Religion. He couldn’t read it.

He closed the book, running his hand over the cover and wondering why he’d felt it calling out to him so insistently if he was never going to be able to read it.

Opening it again, he skimmed through the pages, noting that yes, they were all in the Old tongue, and then he reached the picture of the dragon again and almost dropped the book in shock.

The dragon had _moved_. Its whole body had twisted, the wings drawn close to its body and the flames had shifted direction, rippling down the left hand side of the page towards the bottom.

Merlin blinked, his lips parted in surprise and his forehead creased in a frown.

He lifted his hand above the book and let his magic run forth, covering the page and running into the ink, trying to find the source of the book’s power.

He jerked his hand back with a yelp, a deep roar of magic having echoed in his mind as his magic searched. Something deep and primal was hidden within the book, trying to break loose.

He stared at the page for a moment longer, only to jump out of his skin when Geoffrey appeared at the end of the aisle.

“What are you doing?” he asked.

“Er …” Merlin scrambled down from the ladder, the book tumbling from his grasp in the process. “Nothing.”

“Evidently,” Geoffrey replied.

There was an awkward pause in which Geoffrey raised his eyebrows meaningfully.

It took Merlin a beat longer to put two and two together.

“Ah, yes! But I should be doing _something_ , which I will now.”

“Like tidying the books rather than reading them,” Geoffrey said pointedly.

“Exactly,” Merlin replied, grinning sheepishly.

“Hmph.”

Geoffrey moved off, but not without Merlin catching the old man muttering about why on earth he’d hired Merlin in the first place, and as soon as he was sure Geoffrey was out of earshot, Merlin spun around, searching frantically for the book.

It was only a moment and then his hand fell upon it, the trace of magic like a lighthouse in a storm.

He hesitated, uneasy as to what he might find this time.

Then he practically tore the book open in his haste to find the page, his curiosity winning over his doubts.

The dragon had swung around completely now, facing Merlin head on and watching with two beady black eyes.

But Merlin barely had eyes for that, because now, at the bottom of the page, wreathed in flames, was a single word.

_EMRYS_

**ooOOOoo**

Merlin didn’t bother to knock, he just barged straight on into Iseldir’s house, having run all the way from work.

The druid didn’t need a doorknocker though; he’d have known Merlin was coming from three streets away.

Iseldir’s back was to the door. He was sat in a high-backed armchair in front of the fireplace. His fingers were steeped together and he stared deep into the fire. The rest of the room was in shadow.

“Hello, Emrys,” he said, not looking round.

“I’m being talked to by a book,” Merlin said, marching in front of Iseldir and thrusting the book under the man’s nose without preamble.

He’d had to wait all day for Geoffrey to allow him to go home, the book burning a hole in his pocket and taking up his thoughts. He’d been even more distracted – and clumsy – as a result.

Iseldir looked up at Merlin, something of a smile flickering round his lips.

“It is destiny, Emrys,” he replied. It was a little too cryptic for Merlin’s liking.

“Yes, the book called me that too,” he added. “You’ve never told me why you call me Emrys, and now a book – scrap that – a bloody dragon is.”

“Show me,” Iseldir instructed. “I doubt the book will acknowledge me, so you must open it.”

Frowning, Merlin opened the book, flipping through until he found the dragon page.

It now read. _Hello, Merlin_.

He turned the book around to show Iseldir, who simply nodded.

“Your destiny is calling. It is nearly time.”

“Time for what? What _destiny_?”

Iseldir looked up at Merlin, tilting his head on one side.

“You had the vision last night, did you not? Half the Seers in Camelot did, so no doubt you did too.”

“Yes, I did- Wait. Half the Seers in Camelot?” Merlin stared at Iseldir, a little disbelievingly.

“Mordred saw it,” Iseldir replied, gesturing behind him, and out of the shadows, Mordred appeared. Dark hair, and dark eyes fixed intently on Merlin.

“And you saw … what I saw last night?” Merlin asked, feeling almost embarrassed. The emotions he had felt in the vision. The desperation, the dread. It wasn’t exactly the sort of thing he wanted made public.

Mordred inclined his head. “The time of the New Age is coming, Emrys,” he responded.

“ _Why do you keep calling me Emrys_?” Merlin bit out. He looked to Iseldir again, unable to help his growing anger. But it was Mordred who responded.

“Because that is your name.”

“My name’s Merlin.”

“Your true name is Emrys. Emrys is a name deeper than time, than myth, than legend. It is a calling. And it has called you.” Mordred stepped closer to the fire, his eyes not leaving Merlin’s face.

He was younger than he appeared, something of a child still lingering in his round face. But there was a deeper sense of hurt and pain. Experience having aged the boy beyond his years. Merlin had never asked, Mordred had simply been Iseldir’s apprentice.

“You’re not giving me a straight answer,” Merlin said, turning away from Mordred again and fixing Iseldir with a glare.

“What does this mean?” He waved the book in Iseldir’s face, trying to make his irritation plain.

“You have a great destiny, Merlin,” Iseldir said heavily, “and the time is coming for you to fulfil it. I cannot tell you more, because you are not ready.”

“That doesn’t help-”

“This is a path you must tread for yourself. You will discover the truth when the time is right.”

Merlin clamped his lips shut, holding back the tirade of questions he longed to unleash. He’d known Iseldir for many years, and he knew his questions would not receive answers.

He gave up, sighing and rubbing his eyes. “Just tell me one thing. The man. The dragon. Is that all going to happen?”

Iseldir looked a little pained.

“The future is unknown, Emrys. Even to the Seers and the prophets. But if your destiny is coming to pass … anything is possible.”

“I don’t even know who he is,” Merlin replied, his voice a little broken. “And I’m going to lose him.”

“The future is unknown,” Iseldir repeated. His gaze left Merlin’s face and returned to the fire. “Mordred will show you out. Keep the book.”

Mordred gestured towards the door and Merlin followed him, tucking the book back into the pocket of his jacket as he went.

They paused at the door, Merlin giving a parting nod to Mordred, finding it difficult not to be intimidated by the dark stare Mordred was giving him.

A beat later and Mordred opened the door.

Merlin stepped out into the rapidly cooling night air, the light having faded and the streetlights flickering to life.

“Well, goodbye,” he said, a little awkwardly.

Mordred didn’t respond, and so Merlin turned and began walking.

A few feet away and Mordred’s voice rang loud and clear in his head.

“ _Your destiny is coming, Emrys. And so is mine._ ”

Merlin spun to confront Mordred, the man’s voice still reverberating in his mind, but Mordred had closed the door, and beyond the windows, all was in darkness.

Pulling his coat around himself, and trying to shake off the deep feeling of uneasiness, Merlin set off for home.

* * *

The next day, Arthur set about his duties with renewed purpose in his stride. Something about the humiliation and shame he had been put through the previous day had only proved to make him more determined than ever to go out on the mission.

If what Cenred said was true, and Arthur would end up going to his death – so be it. But he needed to know the truth, needed to put his mind at rest.

And if he could convince Sigan to help them in the process, then maybe, just maybe, it would give his father a reason to be proud of him.

He wanted that more than he would ever admit.

After doing his usual rounds, reassigning groups of refugees to different areas of the complex where there was more space, and instructing Leon to lead a team out above-ground to scavenge for supplies, it was nearly evening by the time he headed to the rooms that Cenred shared with Valiant, Kay and Ebor.

Readying himself for what was doubtless going to be a round of well-planned mockery, Arthur knocked on the door.

Cenred opened it, a smug grin already on his face, and he gestured Arthur to enter.

Valiant, Kay and Ebor were all there, as well as Dagr and Gareth.

Arthur felt sure that a conversation had been going on before he arrived, and from the dark looks he got as he entered, it wasn’t too big of a leap to work out what, or rather _whom_ , they had been talking about.

Ebor had a scowl on his face, his leg up on a chair and his knee bound in bandages.

“Broken?” Arthur asked, going for casual, but it came out a little strained.

Ebro grunted. “Like you care.”

Arthur rolled his eyes, turning away from Ebor to where Cenred lounged against the end of one of the bunk beds.

“I really didn’t come here for the small talk,” he said bluntly.

Valiant, lying on a top bunk, snorted.

“No, you’re just here being a good boy for daddy,” he said snidely.

Arthur bit back his retort.

“Cen?” he said, gesturing towards the door.

Cenred shrugged. “Why not go over the details here?”

“They’re confidential,” Arthur replied, his tone forcefully calm.

“I trust everyone here,” Cenred replied. “Don’t you Arthur?”

“The task is confidential,” Arthur repeated. He lifted the folder with the mission details. “If you don’t want to do it …?” He smirked as Cenred’s eyes narrowed.

“Fine, lead the way.”

Cenred paused at the door, glancing back at the others. “I’ll see you lot for the fight.”

“It’ll be our pleasure,” Valiant replied, grinning smugly in Arthur’s direction.

Setting his jaw, Arthur turned his back on the group and led Cenred back to the council room.

It was empty, and the lights took a while to warm up so for a while Arthur was instructing Cenred in the semi-darkness, both of them squinting at the pages of Arthur’s cramped handwriting.

“As far as we know, he’s fairly reclusive. He works at Camelot’s university, and as far my sources can tell, he spends most of his time alone.”

“Sounds _thrilling_.”

Arthur rolled his eyes and continued. “What it means is, he’s likely suspicious of strangers and difficult to approach. Hopefully you passing as a magical will help, the main thing is to win his trust.”

“Shouldn’t be a problem,” Cenred replied, flipping through the pages of the mission document.

“Cenred, please be serious,” Arthur replied. “The area where he lives has mid-level magical security, but from these maps-” he pulled a few documents out of the folder and laid them next to each other “-you can work out roughly where you’ll find scanners. Probably best if you avoid them.”

Cenred nodded, barely scanning the maps as he flipped through the folder until he came upon the picture of Sigan’s face.

“Quite a stunner, isn’t he,” Cenred said dryly.

“Concentrate, Cen. I don’t have all day. Anyway, the drug. It’ll give you twelve hours’ protection from the scanners every time you take it, but _won’t_ work if a magical uses their powers to work out if you do or not. Basically it’s just a precaution to keep the authorities away from you.”

Arthur glanced at Cenred, narrowing his eyes.

“You’re not even listening,” he said.

“Oh no, believe me, I got it. Find the man, bring him to our cause, and try not to get killed in the process.”

Arthur’s lips thinned. Cenred smirked.

“Simple.”

Arthur sighed, pushing the folder away from himself.

“Look, if you _want_ to get yourself killed, by all means go full ahead. No love lost on my part.”

Cenred waved a hand.

“Don’t worry about me, Pendragon. It’s yourself you should be worrying about.”

“For the last time, Cenred, drop it. I don’t bloody well care if my father plans to off me-”

“Oh, I wasn’t talking about that,” Cenred cut in, a sly grin on his face. “Although it’s good to see you’ve been thinking about it. No, I meant our fight. You’re still up for it, right? Haven’t chickened out?”

Caught off-guard, it took Arthur a moment to cover up his annoyance that Cenred had caught him out. He snapped his mouth shut, and summoned up an appropriate sneer in response.

“Of course.”

“Well then,” Cenred replied, gesturing for Arthur to lead the way. “Shall we?”

They met Valiant and the others at the training room. Ebor had taken a chair and the others were leaning back against the walls.

Arthur got the foreboding sense that this might not turn out to be an entirely fair fight.

Cenred spread his hands, gesturing to the rack of weapons laid out for the soldiers to train with.

“Swords?” he suggested. “Or I could give you a chance and we could use maces, I know they’re your favourite.”

Ignoring Cenred’s comments, Arthur eyed the display of weapons. After a beat, he nodded his head.

“Quarterstaff.”

Cenred raised his eyebrows, trying to bluff his way out of his evident surprise.

“Feeling confident, Pendragon?”

Arthur didn’t respond, but simply crossed the room and picked up a particular staff that caught his eye. He spun it in his grip, getting used to the weight and the balance, and then turned to face Cenred.

“Ready?” he asked bluntly.

“When you are.” Cenred gave a grim smile and then launched himself across the space towards Arthur, the staff in his hand hurtling down towards Arthur’s head.

Arthur blocked it with his own staff, pushed Cenred’s away and took a swipe at Cenred’s left hand side.

Cenred caught the blow and knocked it away, twisting as he did so, so Arthur couldn’t get his quarterstaff back around in time to block Cenred’s next strike.

He jumped back to dodge it, swinging his own staff round and knocking aside Cenred’s next attack with ease.

Cenred gave a respectful nod, spinning his staff round to get a better grip and dropping back a few steps.

Arthur went on the attack, aiming for Cenred’s left side where he was naturally weaker, and after swinging back and forth across the space, attacking and parrying in turn, Arthur landed a hit, his staff smashing into Cenred’s ribs.

Cenred stumbled back a few steps, wincing. Arthur was pretty sure he’d broken something.

“Is that the best you can do?” Cenred sneered.

He straightened, and lunged at Arthur again, but in doing so, tripped slightly, pulling on his injured side, and his attack went wide. Arthur saw his opportunity, and took it, knocking Cenred’s feet from under him and bringing his quarterstaff down hard on Cenred’s.

Cenred’s staff snapped in two.

Arthur took a couple of steps back, breathing heavily from exertion.

“I’ll leave you in one piece,” he said, unable to prevent the smugness from entering his tone. “Enjoy your mission.”

He was about to turn and head out of the room when he was suddenly grabbed from behind, his arms wrenched up behind his back and a sharp kick to the back of his knees sending him stumbling in his captor’s grip.

“What the-?”

“Gareth, get the door,” he heard Valiant grunt from right behind him, which let Arthur know who his assailant was.

“Get your hands off me,” Arthur said, wrestling to get out of Valiant’s grip.

“Why? What are you going to do? Go running to daddy and tell him we hurt you?” Valiant’s tone was full of cruel mockery.

Across the room, Cenred had scrambled to his feet, his face burning with the humiliation of being defeated.

“Time to talk, princess,” he snarled, nodding to someone over Arthur’s shoulder and a moment later Arthur was shoved down in a chair. Valiant adjusted his hold on Arthur’s arms and someone else tied a thick rope round his wrists.

As soon as Valiant’s grip lessened, Arthur fought to get up, Valiant, however, clamped his hands down heavily on Arthur’s shoulders, forcing him back into the seat.

“Stay still,” he grunted.

After a quick glance around to ascertain he wouldn’t be getting away easily, Arthur raised his gaze to Cenred.

“Really? It takes six of you to take me down?” He put enough disdain into his tone to hide his growing panic. There were no scheduled training sessions for hours, and with little prospect of escape, Arthur was at their mercy.

Cenred sniffed, scowling as he stepped closer.

“You’re such a big man, Pendragon. We’ll see who’s laughing soon though.”

Arthur set his jaw.

“Whatever you plan on doing, you won’t get away with it,” he said, his tone even. “My father-”

“Oh, but it’s darling daddy we want to talk about.” Valiant cut across him, walking round Arthur to stand in front of him with Cenred. “And once you’ve told us all you know, we won’t have to worry about what your father can do, because we’ll be taking him down ourselves.”

Arthur narrowed his eyes. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“Oh, really? Project Excalibur mean anything to you?” Valiant had a feral smile on his face.

“Nothing,” Arthur replied firmly. And truthfully.

“Uther would have taught him well,” Dagr said, with a humourless laugh. “Get on with it Val.”

Val looked to Cenred, shrugged, and then drew back his fist.

The force of the punch made the chair rock on its legs. Arthur’s head snapped to the side, his jaw exploding in pain.

It took him a moment to right himself in the present. Ebor was laughing.

“Try not to break his jaw until _after_ he’s talked, Valiant,” Cenred said, sounding almost bored.

Valiant stepped closer, his punch landing in Arthur’s gut this time, followed by another to his kidneys, the third was to his head, just above his eye.

The room span out of focus as he desperately gasped for air.

Cenred stepped forward and took Arthur’s chin roughly in his grasp.

“Project Excalibur. What is it?”

Arthur tried to shake his head, but that only made the room spin more.

“I … don’t … know,” he forced out.

Cenred’s expression was grim, and he turned to Valiant again.

“All yours.”

Valiant had snatched up one of the broke halves of Cenred’s quarterstaff and without much warning, brought it down twice, flat against Arthur’s stomach.

Arthur tried to curl up, but the ropes held him back. He was retching for air, barely aware of what was coming next before Valiant landed another blow with the staff, this one to his shoulder.

Something cracked.

Arthur yelled out, his vision going white for a moment.

It was a long time before the room came back into focus.

“What if he doesn’t talk?” he faintly heard Kay say.

“What if he doesn’t know anything?” Valiant added in a low voice.

Cenred looked disconcerted.

“He must know. He _must_. Why would Uther …” Cenred turn his dark gaze on Arthur and something of a sinister smile appeared on his face. “Unless he doesn’t know anything? Uther may be keeping him in the dark. And that would explain …”

“If he doesn’t know anything you do realise we just beat him up?”

Cenred’s smile dropped.

There was a tense silence.

Arthur sagged against the chair, solely concentrating on breathing.

“What do we do, Cen?”

Cenred showed the tiniest sliver of panic, his hands twisting together and his gaze darting to the door and back.

“We could kill him,” Dagr suggested.

The silence continued. Arthur was vaguely aware of Dagr inching closer.

“If he’s found dead in the complex it’ll raise questions,” Cenred said eventually, his voice firm and his gaze meeting Dagr’s. “We can’t be blamed for this.”

“So what are you going to do about it?” Valiant asked, his voice terse.

Cenred seemed to take a moment to think, his gaze sliding back to Arthur’s. Then, he seemed to come to a decision, and he nodded to himself.

“We take him outside. Dump him above-ground. That way either magicals will get him or it’ll be a good few weeks before anyone finds him. By then we’ll have found out what Uther’s planning.” Cenred’s voice was firm, challenging anyone to disagree with him.

Valiant looked at Arthur for a moment, then nodded.

“How are we going to get out without triggering the alarms?” Ebor asked.

“There’s a team gone out for supplies,” Cenred replied. “We’ll get him out when they come back in.”

Valiant stepped behind Arthur, loosening the ropes round his wrists.

“How long have we got?” Kay put in.

Cenred checked his watch.

“About half an hour until they get back, and then a ten-minute window to get him out before they reseal the exit.”

Valiant hauled Arthur to his feet and Arthur couldn’t help the cry that escaped him as Valiant tugged on his injured arm.

“Gag him,” Cenred said roughly. “Kay, you go on ahead and clear us a route. Ebor and Dagr, you go back to our rooms and think up a cover for us if anyone comes knocking. Gareth, keep an eye on Uther. Val, you’re with me.”

A coarse piece of cloth was bound across Arthur’s mouth, and then Valiant grabbed his arms, forcing Arthur to walk ahead of him as Cenred led the way out of the room.

They snuck through the complex, the corridors strangely deserted, which meant Kay must have been directing the civilians out of their path.

Arthur did his best to get away, to make a noise and raise the alarm, _anything_ , but Valiant had a firm grip on his bound wrists, and the pain in his shoulder almost obliterated every other thought.

When they reached the exit, Cenred directed them into one of the small storage rooms. It was dark and cramped inside and Valiant pushed Arthur down against a set of shelves.

After a moment, Kay joined them, squeezing into the dark space and giving Cenred a grim nod.

“All clear, and the supply team will be back in about quarter of an hour.”

Cenred looked at his watch and nodded. “Good, most of the civilians will be collecting their rations at that time, we’ll be all clear.”

There was a silence in which Arthur sagged back against the shelves, his shoulder throbbing nastily.

“Do you think we’ll get away with this?” Valiant asked quietly.

“If I say we will, we will.” Cenred was beginning to look a little rattled.

“Hey, look. This wasn’t my idea in the first place-,”

“Yeah? Well I’m sure Uther will understand.”

Valiant grit his teeth, giving Cenred a mutinous glare.

“And I don’t see you offering up any better ideas,” Cenred continued. “So just shut up and do as I say.”

Valiant opened his mouth, an angry retort ready, but Kay, with his ear to the door, hushed them.

“They’re back early!”

Cenred snapped to face the door, going pale. Valiant quickly turned around and grabbed Arthur, clamping his hand over Arthur’s mouth.

Seeing his opportunity would soon pass, Arthur kicked back at Valiant’s knees, twisting to get out of his grip and then swinging round to drive his shoulder into Cenred’s gut.

Cenred swore, crashing back into the shelves which shook and broke under his weight, packages and tins clattering down.

Kay made a lunge for Arthur, trying to overpower him, but Kay was slight and even with his hands bound, Arthur could easily throw him off.

He had his back to the door, trying desperately to find the door handle with his hands restrained. Just when his fingers alighted on it, Valiant regained his balance, jumping forward and driving Arthur up against the door.

The door opened inwards, and with Arthur and Valiant’s combined weight, there was no way Arthur would be able to get it open.

He struggled, trying to duck out from under Valiant, but Valiant planted a heavy hand on Arthur’s injured shoulder, forcing him to yell out in pain around the gag. Valiant dragged a knife from his pocket, laying under Arthur’s chin, against his throat.

“Stay. Still.” He growled.

Cenred fought his way out of the wreckage of the shelves and Kay staggered to his feet. All four of them fell silent as an alarm rang out through the corridors.

“The doors are opening,” Cenred murmured.

Arthur felt hopelessness pool in his gut. Once the alarms stopped, there would be a ten-minute period where the doors would stay on low level locks, that way if anyone was delayed in returning from a mission, they would be able to get in without the whole system having to be set off again.

Despite having been saved by this protocol before, Arthur vastly regretted its implementation now.

Cenred and the others would be able to get him out and return without the alarm being raised.

He might be able to get back in. He could rewire the system on the outside, or at least do enough to trigger an alarm and send out a squad of soldiers. But his strength was waning, and his vision going dark.

A moment later, heavy footsteps were heard passing the door, and Arthur even heard Leon’s voice, but then they faded and the alarm stopped a moment later.

“Kay, check it’s clear,” Cenred ordered as Valiant dragged Arthur away from the door.

Arthur’s shoulder burned with pain. For a moment, Valiant’s grip was the only thing keeping him on his feet.

“Clear,” Kay said quietly, and he slipped out the door. Valiant pushed Arthur after him and Cenred took the rear.

Kay was silent as a ghost as he slipped up behind the two guards on the door. Neither of them saw him coming and Valiant simply pushed Arthur on past as they crumpled.

Arthur fought for all he was worth with what was left of his fading strength.

He had to do _something_. He had to get away.

But as the doors disengaged and a draught of freezing night air hit him in the face, he realised he stood little chance.

The entrance opened up into a narrow gully in the middle of a forest. Tall, dark pines towered around them and a thin layer of frost had settled on the ground.

The cold seeped through Arthur’s clothing, right to his bones. If he wasn’t attacked first, succumbing to the cold was probably the way he would go.

He didn’t like that idea. It seemed … too quiet, too feeble.

“Quickly,” Cenred grunted. “This way.”

Valiant dragged Arthur out of the gully and they followed Cenred as he took an abrupt left into the forest.

There was little light beneath the pines, the fast deepening twilight meaning they were all but stumbling along in the dark. It gave Arthur a little satisfaction to see the others were too afraid to use torches for fear they might be seen. At the same time, he wished they could have just been a little more stupid.

“Here,” Cenred said quietly.

They’d reached the edge of a small ravine, the bottom almost in complete darkness and the rocks at the edge slippery with ice.

“Throw him over, and hurry up about it, we don’t have long.”

Cenred was already turning back the way he had come, not even bothering to get in a parting shot.

Valiant grunted and pushed Arthur to the ground.

With his hands still bound, Arthur had no way to protect himself as Valiant landed a vicious kick to Arthur’s midsection.

For a moment, he wobbled on the edge of the ravine, and then with another nudge from the toe of Valiant’s boot, he rolled over the edge, tumbling down into the dark, helpless to break his fall.

He landed hard on his injured shoulder, his vision whiting out and for a long time he was unable to focus on anything.

When he finally summoned the strength to roll over, Valiant and Kay were gone.

The night was drawing in fast and apart from the rough moss and wet leaves beneath his cheek, and the dull fire in his shoulder, Arthur wasn’t aware of much at all.

He was going to die.

The realisation hit him in a cold wave. He was going to die out here, alone, helpless.

He’d never see the end of the war. Never see freedom for his people.

His eyes drifted shut.

**ooOOOoo**

He awoke to a strange warmth drifting through his body.

It started in his belly and spread outwards until even his numb fingers and toes had feeling again.

Was this what dying felt like?

His eyes flickered open and the first thing he saw was a strange, blue orb of light hanging above him.

He blinked and it was gone.

In a great shuddering gasp, all the pain of the past hours returned. But at the same time, his strength was renewed.

The bindings round his wrists must have broken in his fall, he mused, as he pulled his hands out from under him and unsteadily got to his feet.

Reaching a hand up, he poked a little at his shoulder to find it not broken, only dislocated.

Bracing himself against a rock, he yanked it back into place.

He couldn’t help the whine of pain that escaped him, and he breathed heavily through his teeth for a few moments whilst he waited for his stomach to settle down.

_Right then, back to the Fortress._

He made it to the end of the ravine, staggering a little over tree roots and stones, but then he hesitated.

This was the perfect opportunity to get away. To find Sigan and complete his mission. He didn’t have the serum, but if he were careful …

A daring spark alighted inside him.

He could do it. He _could_.

He had no supplies, no backup, no plan, but a small, almost brazen, laugh escaped him.

He’d show them. He’d show them all.

He turned his back on the Fortress and stumbled off into the night.


	3. Chapter 3

Merlin woke with a start and found himself sprawled across his sofa, the candles in the room unlit and a cold breeze blowing in through an open window.

What had woken him was a strange blue orb, hanging in the middle of his lounge, its surface a swirling mass of blue and white wisps.

He blinked, looking a little harder at the orb. It continued to swirl and bob in front of him.

Cautiously, knowing it was against every rule in the book of sense to touch unknown magic, he reached out and prodded its surface.

A loud heartbeat echoed in his head and he winced at the sudden, fiery sensation of pain across his whole body, but most in his shoulder. He snatched back his hand and the pain faded.

Getting to his feet, Merlin crossed the space to stand in front of the orb. It wasn’t the pain or the orb’s appearance that confused him most, but that fact that when he had touched the orb, it felt all too familiar.

This magic was his own.

He stood for a moment longer, simply staring at the orb before he convinced himself to reach out and touch it again.

His fingers were bare millimetres away when there came a loud knock on the door.

The orb flickered, and vanished.

“Merlin? Merls? You in there? We were going out for drinks.” It was Gwaine.

A deep sense of disappointment welled up in Merlin, but then he snapped out of it, waving his hand at the door which opened with a flash of his eyes.

Gwaine stood there, his hand raised to knock.

“You do realise it’s really creepy when you do that,” Gwaine said, looking at the door as if it were some sort of dangerous object.

“I thought you liked my magic?” Merlin said, feigning a hurt look.

“Yeah, sure,” Gwaine said, rolling his eyes. “Just not in a ‘creaking door, dark house, horror movie’ kind of way.”

Merlin grinned a little.

Gwaine gestured at the candles. “So why are you in here in the dark?”

“Oh …” Merlin waved his hand and the candles were lit. “I was asleep,” he shrugged.

Truth be told, he had arrived home from Iseldir’s and immediately collapsed on the couch, the lack of answers and Mordred’s foreboding words meant he felt exhausted.

“You, my friend,” Gwaine said, clapping a hand on Merlin’s shoulder and steering him towards the door. “Need to unwind a little.”

“No. No. I’m not going,” Merlin tried to dig his heels in, but Gwaine successfully got them both outside, handing Merlin his coat and scarf. The night was chilly, faint flakes of snow drifting down in the breeze and disappearing on the wet cobbles.

“I can’t, Gwaine, not after last night.”

“Well, you see, I’m in charge tonight, so it’s strictly fun only. I’ve told the others, and there’s no one else in the pub tonight so we’re going to get Percy to join us.”

Merlin shot a sidelong glance at Gwaine, grinning again.

“Hoping to work your charm on him?” he teased.

“No one, I repeat, _no one_ can resist the charm,” Gwaine replied, flashing a smile in Merlin’s direction.

“I beg to differ,” Merlin snorted.

The effect was ruined, however, when he slipped a moment later on the icy stairs. Gwaine caught him and, once Merlin had regained his footing, hauled him up again.

“Look at you,” Gwaine tutted, “you’re completely useless.”

“Mind if I don’t take that as a compliment?” Merlin asked. They thumped down the stairs, the clanking metal echoing off the buildings nearby.

“I’m just saying, all this magic and you can’t even look after yourself.” Gwaine threw up his hands as Merlin glared. “Maybe it’s time you found someone. It can’t be good for you, shut up in your flat, or the library, all day.”

“Find someone,” Merlin replied dryly. “Right.”

Gwaine huffed. “Come on, Merlin, you’re an attractive bloke, anyone can see that.”

They reached the bottom of the stairs and Merlin turned to face Gwaine, an eyebrow raised.

“Is this you trying to ask me out again, because we both know how well _that_ ended last time-”

Gwaine cuffed him over the head. “No, Merls. Although, I still can’t believe you could say no to _this_ ,” he gave Merlin a charming smile. Merlin shook his head, almost disbelievingly.

“But that isn’t my point. You need to get out, out of that flat, out of this little idea that you’re the only person who can look after you, and you need to let people _in_.” Gwaine pushed Merlin a little, clearly frustrated. “We’re your friends, Merlin. Just, come and have a good time with us, right?”

Merlin ducked his head, feeling guilty, because these days, it did almost feel easier to push people away than to let them in. There was just so much weighing on his mind and he didn’t really know how to get it out.

“We just want to see you smile, mate.” Gwaine gave a hopeful grin, clapping Merlin on the shoulder.

“Yeah.” Merlin pressed his lips together, wondering what exactly he should say. “There’s just a lot on my plate right now.”

“We know,” Gwaine replied.

Merlin nodded, somewhat to himself, and then gave Gwaine a sheepish, but teasing, grin. “If I get to see your terrible attempts at flirting, I guess it’s worth a night out.”

Gwaine practically beamed.

The walk to the pub was hurried, the night and cold spurring them on. Merlin dug his hands into his pockets, hunching his shoulders up to his ears in an attempt to warm up.

Gwaine obviously spotted this, and slung his arm round Merlin’s shoulders, pressing close to him as he tried to share body heat.

It warmed Merlin up, and it was comfortable, but just as friends. Merlin and Gwaine had had their day, and whilst things had ended on friendly terms, it hadn’t been perfect either. It had taken Merlin too long to realise he wasn’t in love with Gwaine, and taken them both too long to realise that really, they were looking for something else.

The pub’s lighting drew them in, the warmth and familiar sight cheering Merlin up, and lifting some of the burden that had been sitting heavy on his shoulders since his dream the previous night.

“Oh, Merlin! You made it!” Gwen’s excited squeak drew a smile from him, and Lancelot warmly clapped him on the back.

“Did Gwaine force you?” Will asked, looking at Gwaine somewhat incredulously.

“Natural charm, my friend. Something you are lacking in,” Gwaine replied, leaning back in the chair he had dropped into, his gaze immediately darting over to where Percival was pouring drinks at the bar.

“Oh, yeah?” Will looked a little sullen. “I was going to come and get you, but this one,” he aimed a kick at Gwaine under the table, missed and hit Elyan which prompted an angry squawk and spilled beer, “insisted he went.”

Spluttering with laughter as Elyan tried to mop up the mess of beer he had practically spat down himself, Merlin patted Will on the arm.

“Honestly, Will. It’s fine.”

When Will continued to look put out, Merlin adopted a more serious expression.

“I know you care, ok? Just, let’s face it, even _Gwaine_ has more subtlety than you.”

“Are you saying I’m not subtle?” Will said, swivelling in his seat to face Merlin down.

“Are you saying _I’m_ not subtle?” Gwaine added, looking mock-outraged.

“About as subtle as a flying brick,” came a quiet voice from behind Merlin and the table to turned to find Percival, a drink in each hand, and sending a fond sort of smile in Gwaine’s direction.

Gwaine didn’t seem to notice the insult, instead immediately moving up on the bench - despite Gwen’s protests - and patting the space next to him.

“Percy! Glad you could join us!”

“Head over heels,” Lancelot murmured into his drink.

“Like you can talk,” Gwaine flashed back, and even Lance couldn’t help a shy smile in Gwen’s direction.

Percival squashed himself onto the bench, the rest of the group rearranging themselves, not without complaint, until there was room for everyone.

“I can be subtle,” Will grumbled after a beat.

“Oh, for heaven’s sake, Will!” Merlin spluttered. “Fine, yes, you can be subtle, if it feeds your ego anymore.”

“Come on, Merlin,” Elyan said, still wiping at his front with a now sodden serviette, “don’t lie to his face, he’ll only get hurt when the girls start running away.”

“The girls don’t run away from me,” Will replied, looking more put out by the second.

“Vivian,” Gwen said, faking a cough into her drink.

“That was not-” Will protested, but he was overridden.

“Mithian,” Elyan added.

“Catrina,” Gwaine threw in.

Lancelot turned to Will looking scandalised.

“You _did not_ ,” he said, looking stunned. “That woman’s half troll, I swear.”

“I was drunk, alright?” Will said, having the decency to look sheepish.

“Yeah, but _Catrina_.”

Lancelot seemed to have entered some state of pure horror, Gwen was giggling helplessly into her drink, Gwaine and Percival were having some sort of silent conversation, completely ignoring the rest of the group, and Will and Elyan had entered a round of finger-pointing accusations, each trying to outdo the other, so it was Merlin, who looked round by chance, who saw the newcomer first.

The man’s entrance must have been covered by the group’s noise. He was sat at the bar, his back to the group and his shoulders hunched up to his ears. Blond hair stuck up in a ragged mess and his clothes were tattered and dirty.

He was holding his left arm close to chest as if it hurt.

Percival noticed the man next, and he gave a small cough, giving Gwaine a small grimace and heading to the bar.

The blond waved him away, but not before Percival had gotten a look at him. Percival stopped short, his expression darkening.

“What happened?” he asked quietly, but his voice was audible across the space as the rest of the group had noticed the man and fallen silent.

“Nothing,” the man snapped in response.

Percival set his jaw and said nothing more, moving to stand behind the bar and picking up a glass and a polishing cloth.

“Go back to your friends,” the blond said. “Don’t let me interrupt.”

“This is my job,” Percival responded evenly, no room for negotiation. “Do you want a drink?”

The man was silent for a moment, then his head dropped.

“Something strong,” he replied, his voice a pained grunt.

Merlin felt a foot nudge his leg. It was Gwen.

“Ask him to join us,” she hissed.

Merlin made a ‘why me?’ gesture back at her, and so she kicked Gwaine sharply.

After a brief conversation of fierce hand gestures and loud whispering – which Merlin was sure the blond was completely aware of – Gwaine awkwardly cleared his throat.

“You can come and join us,” he said, “if you want.”

The man twisted around at Gwaine’s words, but then seemed to catch himself, turning back. The group caught sight of his face, however, and there were mirrored looks of shock. Gwen gasped softly.

Bruises covered the man’s face, and blood trickled down from his hairline. He’d been beaten, that much was obvious.

His eyes were what caught Merlin’s attention though. A dark blue, shadowed in the bar’s low lighting and a little watery. Merlin found himself wanting another glimpse of those eyes.

“I’m fine,” the man replied heavily after a moment.

More silent conversation followed, and somehow it was Merlin who drew the short straw.

A little nervously, he got up from his seat and approached the man at the bar. Percival raised his eyebrows in warning, and, behind Merlin, the table had gone silent.

Just before Merlin made it to the bar stool next to the man, he turned to face Merlin.

“You and your friends aren’t very subtle,” he said, a soft laugh in his tone.

Up close, his injuries were even worse. They were mottled blue, black and green, mixed with red stains where his skin had broken.

Merlin bit his lip. “We were… concerned.”

“I said I was fine,” the man replied, a bit of a snap in his tone.

Merlin threw up his hands, like he was trying to calm a wild horse. One wrong move and he’d lose what little chance – if any – that he had.

Percival put a drink on the bar in front of the man, perhaps a little forcefully.

“We’re just trying to help,” Merlin said, giving Percival a look – _you’re not helping_ – but Percival just regarded the blond shrewdly.

“I doubt you can,” the blond snorted, he shot a look at Merlin, all too evidently finding Merlin a little lacking.

Merlin felt his hackles rising.

“You don’t know what I’m capable of,” he snapped.

“You couldn’t hurt a fly,” the blond replied.

Merlin almost missed the curl of a smirk on the man’s lips.

He was _teasing_ Merlin.

Merlin tried not to pout.

“Sorry, but I highly doubt you can help me,” the blond said.

“Try me,” Merlin said.

The man raised an eyebrow, almost appraisingly.

“You’re not going to leave me be until I do?”

“No.” Merlin gave his best, sickeningly sweet smile.

“Fine. Do you know anyone named Cornelius Sigan?”

Merlin’s smile fell. “No, I don’t.”

“Then you can’t help me.” The man turned away and reached out to take his drink. He winced as he swallowed it down.

“But your injuries-”

“I can handle them,” the blond replied tersely.

There was a brief silence, Merlin scratching at a loose splinter on the bar top.

He wasn’t sure where his desire to make the man open up had come from. Perhaps it was his clear vulnerability. Or his casual teasing remarks to hide how much pain he was in. Or perhaps it was his eyes. There was something hidden in his gaze. A story that Merlin felt the need to unravel.

“At least tell me your name,” he said hopefully.

The man’s face twitched. Then he sighed.

“Arthur.”

“Merlin.”

Merlin offered his hand. After a moment, Arthur took it.

Both of them winced, a jolt of electricity bouncing between them.

“Sorry,” Merlin said, flapping his hand. “Static.”

There was a beat, Arthur’s deep blue eyes meeting Merlin’s lighter shade. Merlin wanted to reach for Arthur again.

“You should go back and join your friends,” Arthur said, breaking their gaze and returning to his drink, scowling into its amber depths. “I shouldn’t even be here.”

“We could-” Merlin began, but caught his tongue before he could say anything he’d regret.

“You can’t help,” the man repeated firmly.

Merlin sighed to himself, glanced at Percival, who shrugged, and then slid off his stool, heading back to the group.

“What did he say?” Lance asked.

“Nothing much,” Merlin replied, trying not to feel disappointed that they hadn’t talked more. He dropped back onto the bench next to Will and reached for his drink.

The rest of the group were plainly looking between Merlin and Arthur, trying to get a gauge on what had happened, but Merlin, determined to break to tension, jabbed Will playfully in the ribs.

“You never told me about Catrina,” he teased, and just like that, the strange silence was gone, Will embarking on an affronted tirade of Merlin’s supposed misdeeds.

But Merlin couldn’t deny that he wasn’t aware of Arthur, sat alone at the bar. And when Arthur got up to leave, Merlin couldn’t help but watch him out, his heart splintering slightly, when Arthur didn’t look back.

* * *

Arthur had been frozen to the bone and almost losing consciousness by the time he stumbled into the pub.

He’d made his way out of the forest surrounding the Fortress to find scattered camps and settlements lying between him and the jumbled buildings of Camelot beyond.

It was a clear night, the skyscrapers at the centre of the city clearly visible, their bright pinpricks of light like stars.

Stumbling through dark streets, keeping to the shadows between streetlamps, Arthur had desperately begun to think that perhaps this hadn’t been such a good idea.

He’d found the pub, wandered inside, ignoring the loud group who were in there alone and hoping they’d ignore him. He didn’t need offers of help from well-meaning citizens – if there were any up here – and he certainly didn’t want to attract attention of the wrong kind either.

He was hardly in a position to fight.

Several things had caught his attention, however, groggy and disoriented as he was. One, that the information the Fortress had on the world above-ground was vastly outdated. Not one of the magical scanners he had passed had been working. Several had been vandalised, broken, or even completely removed from where Arthur knew they had been from the maps.

That meant either the magical versus non-magical situation above ground was not as grave as they’d thought, or _someone_ was suppressing information.

Two, that whilst a lot of the housing and camps he’d passed had been shabby, dirty and in places almost derelict, in general, their standard was vastly superior to the living conditions of those in the Fortress, especially those who didn’t have allocated living areas. Which begged the question of why so many people were still fleeing to the Fortress? Was the violence and fighting – which Arthur had yet to see any real example of – bad enough to force people into hiding?

His mind was flicking through the information he was presented with, but almost everything he saw begged more questions.

Once the group had noticed him, he was forced to consider a third fact. Not one of them had asked him if he was magical or non-magical. None of them had threatened him or treated him as inferior, if they were indeed able to tell that he himself didn’t have magic.

Arthur began to realise, with a twisted feeling of doubt and betrayal, that the life he had been living inside the Fortress had been blinkered and sheltered.

On edge, and wound up as he was, his thoughts immediately travelled back to all of Cenred’s veiled hints and suggestions.

He didn’t want to think his father had been hiding things from him…

But faced with the reality of the above-ground world, doubts began creeping in.

Surely, _surely_ , their intel and information couldn’t have been this far wrong?

Then the man, _Merlin_ , had approached him. Arthur tugged at the sleeve of his jacket, bringing it up to wipe it across his mouth. He had to force himself not to turn around, not to join the group and sit beside Merlin and … well he didn’t know what would happen next.

There had been something in the way Merlin looked at him, pale blue eyes gleaming despite the gloominess of the bar, an open, honest expression. Merlin had been reaching out, but Arthur drew back.

His drink burned his throat as it went down, souring his mood.

He didn’t know this world. Turned out, he didn’t know his own either, anymore. He was dancing between two unknowns and couldn’t risk reaching out to a stranger.

A stranger who had made Arthur feel more at home than he had in many years.

He downed the rest of the drink, hoping the alcohol would take away this feeling of uncertainty.

He didn’t look back as he left, not daring to tempt himself into another glance of those eyes, and that shock of dark hair.

Beyond the warmth of the pub, the night was freezing. Arthur wrapped his arms around his middle, walking quickly and trying to keep his core warm. He would have to find shelter, and fast. He had little chance of finding Sigan that night, and with his strength steadily failing once again, his injuries were making themselves known.

Stopping at the end of the street, he looked up and down between the houses on either side, wondering if there was someplace abandoned he could take shelter. Most of the houses and flats had lights glowing behind the windows, however, or the doors looked too solid for him to break down. He didn’t dare knock on a stranger’s door.

The streetlight overhead was flickering, and Arthur forced himself to get moving again. He had to find somewhere soon. He _had_ to.

He rounded a corner and found himself in a dark street. Immediately turning on his heel to go back, he found his way blocked by an imposing man with dirty blond hair curling round his ears. The man grinned and his teeth gleamed even in the darkness.

“Well, what have we here? A little non-magical out on their own after dark.”

Arthur retreated until he felt his back hit against the wall.

“I don’t want to fight, please,” he said, trying for reasonable.

“Oh, so a coward as well as a dud, are we?”

Arthur pressed his lips together, determined not to let his pride get in the way of common sense.

He couldn’t fight in this state. He wouldn’t stand a chance.

The man stepped closer, crowding up against Arthur.

“Looks like someone’s already had a game with you though? Where did you get your face mashed in?”

Arthur refused to speak.

“Not saying anything?” the man pulled a fake hurt expression. “Don’t worry, I’m sure you’ll scream.”

Arthur had but a moment’s warning before the man’s eyes flashed, red-orange in the dark and Arthur was hoisted into the air.

He slid up the wall, hands scrabbling for purchase as the man’s magical grip on his throat lifted him higher.

Six feet up and he stopped, pinned against the wall and barely able to breathe.

Below him, the man was laughing.

“Still not squeaking?” he called, “how about when I do this?”

Arthur felt something tighten around his injured shoulder and his eyes widened.

“No!”

A howl of pain slipped out of him as, with a flash of his eyes, Arthur’s shoulder was ripped out of his joint for the second time that night.

Eyes alight with the thrill of the hunt, the man stepped closer, but Arthur, not as defenceless as he appeared, kicked out. His foot connected with the man’s nose and he staggered backwards.

The man’s magical hold on Arthur released and he dropped to the ground, pain shooting up his legs at the impact.

Stumbling to the side, Arthur barely made it three steps before the man was upon him again, blood running down his face and his eyes wild.

“You think you can do that to me?!”

Arthur’s vision was going hazy, both from lack of oxygen and pain. The man raised his hand, ready to cast another spell.

But suddenly, he stilled, a commotion at the end of the street catching his attention.

“Hey! Let him go!”

Arthur recognised that voice.

He was losing consciousness again, but some stubborn streak kept his eyes open. Faintly, he realised his attacker had run off.

Blearily, he looked up to find a pale face looking down at him. Those blue eyes were in shadow now, but for a moment, Arthur could have sworn-

“Are you alright?”

Arthur had sagged back against the wall of the building behind him, steadily sliding down towards the ground without realising.

“Arthur? Are you ok?”

Something pressed against his shoulder, and without warning it clicked back into place.

A yelp of pain escaped Arthur, and it was a moment before he could put a name to the face in front of him.

“Merlin?” Something of a bemused smile came across his face. “What’re you doing here?”

“Saving your life,” Merlin muttered, sounding a little exasperated at that fact. He crouched down next to Arthur. “Can you walk?”

“O’ course I can, _Mer_ lin.” Arthur replied stubbornly, knowing full well he couldn’t. He tried to get his feet under him and his shoulder seared with pain again. He grunted and tried to maintain his pride even as he toppled sideways against the wall. 

“Right.” Merlin pressed his lips together, caught halfway between amused and irritated. He caught hold of Arthur’s uninjured arm and in one swift movement, hauled him to his feet.

The world wavered in front of Arthur.

“Were you heading home?” Merlin asked, his hand still a steadying presence on Arthur’s arm, and his warmth comforting at Arthur’s side.

Despite the current fogginess in Arthur’s brain, he knew enough to hold his tongue.

“I’m from out of town,” he explained vaguely. “I was looking for a place to stay.”

Merlin looked a little incredulous.

“What?” Arthur asked bluntly. “I’m completely capable of taking care of myself, thank you.”

He jerked his arm out of Merlin’s grip only to teeter dangerously as everything seemed to tip sideways.

“Right. That’s settles it,” Merlin said, grabbing Arthur’s arm again and slinging it over his shoulder. “You’re coming home with me.”

Arthur tried to resist for a moment, only for his vision to darken alarmingly, and then he gave in, sagging against Merlin.

“I don’t know you,” he said, the thought giving off warning bells in his brain.

“I don’t know you either,” Merlin replied, grunting a little as he hauled Arthur’s weight along. “Call it my good deed for the day.”

There was silence as they trudged along together through the streets.

“Thank you,” Arthur said, a little belatedly.

“Why did he attack you?” Merlin asked.

“He was a magical,” Arthur replied. “That’s what they do, isn’t it?”

Merlin tensed slightly.

“Not all of them,” he said, after a beat.

“Well, I’ve never met a good magical,” Arthur said.

Merlin gave a soft, almost pained laugh, that in his hazy state Arthur almost missed.

“Me either,” Merlin murmured sadly.

They had reached a block of flats, a metal set of steps winding upwards against the side of the building. Merlin came to a stop, looking at Arthur.

“You’re going to have to give me a hand here,” he said pointedly.

“Are you calling me fat?” Arthur replied, trying his best not to pout. Pain and exhaustion melded together and he wasn’t even quite sure where he was anymore. 

“You said it first,” Merlin said, a teasing grin on his face.  “But really,” he added, “I can’t carry you up the stairs. You’re going to have to bear your own weight a bit.”

At that, Arthur did pout. “I have been bearing my own weight!” he protested.

Merlin just raised an eyebrow, and took a heavy step towards the stairs.

“Come on, or we’ll be here all night.”

It was slow progress. Every step upwards felt something like a mountain to Arthur. He was blacking out, he realised numbly, the strain and stress of his injuries taking their toll.

“Mer’in,” he mumbled, glancing sideways at Merlin, to catch him looking the other way.

“ _Mer_ lin,” he forced out. “It would help … if you watched where we’re … going.”

Merlin’s eyes snapped open, startled, and a little guilty, as if Arthur had caught him doing something he shouldn’t be.

“Just taking a moment,” Merlin replied, breathless himself from the effort. “It’s not easy dragging you up twelve flights.”

Arthur couldn’t find the energy to come up with a sufficiently snarky retort.

“Arthur? Arthur, come on. Not far now.”

When they carried on moving, it suddenly seemed easier. Arthur wondered how much of his weight Merlin was taking now. He himself was almost unconscious.

“Finally.” Merlin said, but his voice was faint.

Arthur registered a dark blue door, the rattling of keys, and then the door opening into a small but comfortable looking room.

A couple of candles flared into life to light their way, and Arthur didn’t really question how they’d been lit.

They crossed the room, passed through a door and into a bedroom.

Bed.

The idea had never held so much appeal for him.

“Arthur? Can you hear me?”

Merlin’s face, pale in the darkness, wavered in front of him.

Arthur collapsed onto the bed, catching hold of Merlin’s wrist.

“You won’t … let the magicals get me, will you?”

Merlin’s lips tightened, indecipherably emotions crossing his face.

“You’re safe here, Arthur. I promise.”

* * *

Merlin stepped back from the bed as Arthur passed out, bringing up a hand to press against his mouth.

_What was he doing?_

He couldn’t get over the moment when he’d turned the corner after dropping the others home, and found someone being attacked – the moment when he’d realised it was _Arthur_ being attacked – and his heart had leapt into his throat, his magic rushing up in a protective leap, everything narrowing down to that moment, the gap between the heartbeats-

He didn’t even know this man.

He left the bedroom, pausing in the doorway, unable to _not_ look back. Arthur’s hair was mussed, stained a dark red in places where he’d been bleeding. His battered face betraying no anger or darkness in his sleep, only a slight pinch in his forehead, giving away a sense of worry.

There was something about Arthur…

Merlin slipped into the kitchen, quietly pouring himself a drink from the tap and gulping it down. His gaze was fixed beyond the window, but he didn’t see anything. His mind was elsewhere. Namely in the bedroom with the injured, magical-hating stranger he’d just brought home.

Arthur’s comments about magicals had left Merlin in doubt as to where he stood in the war. He wondered how Arthur could be so against magicals? What had he seen? What he learned?

Then again, if run-ins in dark alleys was Arthur’s only experience of magicals, Merlin could understand his point of view.

His throat constricted when he thought of how Arthur had reached out to him – a need for assurance, for _care_ , in his gaze.

_You won’t let the magicals get me, will you?_

Merlin bit his lip.

This is what the war created. Fear and doubt. It turned people against one another before they even knew one another. Arthur hadn’t asked if Merlin were a magical. Perhaps he would not have looked at Merlin with such complete faith if he had.

And if Arthur asked now, Merlin did not know how he’d respond.

There had been a time, back before Freya, when he had been proud of the magic running in his veins. He had naively assumed that his power could be used to do good, could be used to help others.

But all it took was one prejudiced opinion, and people ended up dead.

It had been Will who had dragged Merlin away from Freya’s body that night, forced Merlin to get away before the authorities found them there. Will had done what needed to be done, had gotten Merlin out of the destructive path of trying to do what was right.

Merlin had been trying to set Freya free. The non-magical across the street with the knife had only seen the Bastet, not the scared girl trying to _live_.

And Merlin hadn’t been fast enough.

Then there had been days, months, of a withdrawing, pulling away from everyone and everything that could have brought him happiness because Merlin began to lose sight of the point of it all.

Will had tried to help. Little by little tried to draw him out of the shell he’d built around himself. Perhaps that was why Will had been so annoyed about Gwaine going to find Merlin that night.

Will had been worried that Merlin had been pulling away again.

It was a domino effect. One person, afraid, or angry, acting out of fear and doubt. And steadily everything else started to topple into chaos.

Merlin couldn’t help but wonder, if Arthur had seen Freya in the street that night, would he have thrown the knife too?

He blinked, returning to the moment sharply. He had put his cup down and his hands were gripping the edge of the surface in a white-knuckle grip.

Very slowly, he breathed out, unclenching his hands and standing up straight.

It was 3am. He was exhausted and needed to sleep.

Obviously the bed of out of the question so he grabbed a few blankets and headed for the couch. His wards were in place around the flat, but just in case Arthur woke first, he locked and bolted the door.

Flopping down onto the couch, he curled up into a ball, shivering a little from the cold.

He shifted around a bit, unable to get comfortable on the lumpy couch, and then felt something hard dig into his ribs.

It was the book, still in his coat pocket, which he hadn’t taken off, and a corner was digging into his chest.

He dragged it out, intending on tossing it to the side, but stopped short a moment later.

The title, which had been embossed in silver, was glowing bright gold and even as Merlin sat staring at the cover, the book flipped open in his hands, ghosting through the pages in a non-existent breeze until it came to rest on the image of the dragon.

Words stretched across the bottom edge of the page.

_A half cannot truly hate that which makes it whole._

Merlin snapped the book shut, a frustrated sigh on his lips. He bent down and stuffed the book under the couch, trying to put it from his mind because it was one more question, one more riddle that he didn’t want to face.

Dragging the blankets up around his shoulders, he curled up once more, finally giving into his need for sleep.

* * *

Something bright was shining on his face and Arthur frowned in his sleep, wishing someone would turn off the light.

He felt like he’d run a marathon… several times over. Rolling over onto his side to turn away from the light, he was abruptly woken as his shoulder flared with pain.

Eyes shooting open, he squinted in the harsh light, his vision blurred for a few seconds before he blinked rapidly.

Sunlight. Bright sunlight was pouring through a window, curtains not drawn, and lighting up the room in a late morning glare.

He couldn’t remember the last time he’d woken to sunlight, perhaps he never had. His glimpses of the sun had been few and far between, living below ground in the Fortress. Waking to the sun was somewhat like waking to a whole new world.

He rubbed his eyes, his brain a little sluggish to process what was in front of him, and when it finally did, he bolted upright in the bed.

Not his bed. Not his room.

Where was he?

He frantically scrambled from the bed, getting caught in the covers in the process and falling to the floor with a muffled thump and a growl of pain as his injuries burned.

Face pressed into the carpet, he closed his eyes, racking his brain for what exactly had happened the previous night.

He remembered fleeing the Fortress, reaching the city and finding the bar. Then the fight. And _Merlin_.

“Are you alright?”

Arthur froze where he lay, the sound of Merlin’s voice caught somewhere between concerned and amused, bringing forth memories of bright blue eyes and pale skin. The feeling of Merlin’s warmth next to him.

“Doing just fine,” Arthur responded through gritted teeth.

“It’s just…” Merlin sounded a little hesitant, and Arthur tried to work out if he was suppressing a laugh. “You’re lying on the floor.”

“How very observant of you,” Arthur responded.

There was a beat.

“Do you need a hand up?”

Arthur raised his head, his eyes lifting to find Merlin stood above him, a blanket wrapped around his shoulders and a bemused grin on his face.

“Do I look incompetent?” Arthur snapped.

Merlin tilted his head on one side, raising his eyebrows and his grin broadening.

“Shut up, _Mer_ lin.”

“I didn’t say anything,” Merlin replied, throwing his hands up in defence.

“You were thinking it,” Arthur replied sullenly. He slowly got his hands underneath him and eventually managed to get himself to his feet.

“Did you sleep well?” Merlin asked, the teasing grin replaced with an expression of concern.

Arthur felt a pang of guilt when he realised he’d slept in Merlin’s bed.

“Fine.” Arthur suddenly felt self-conscious and ducked his head. “Thank you. For the bed. You didn’t have to.”

“Not a problem,” Merlin replied, scratching the back of his neck, and giving a shy smile.

They drifted to silence, both overly conscious of just how strange this situation was.

“Do you… do you want breakfast?” Merlin asked tentatively with a vague gesture over his shoulder towards where Arthur presumed the kitchen must be.

In response, Arthur’s stomach growled loudly.

Merlin bit back a chuckle as Arthur flushed with embarrassment.

“That would be… much appreciated. Thanks.” It felt like a year since he’d eaten.

Merlin grinned a little and then turned and headed down the corridor away from the bedroom. A few moments later, Arthur heard the clatter of pots and pans.

He turned to face the room, his gaze sliding over the chipboard cupboards which faced the bed, a little battered and damaged in places, onto the stacks of books piled along the wall under the window, tattered covers falling off and the titles faded, across the bed where the covers were crumpled, and finally landing on the mirror on the wall beside him.

He stared at his appearance for a long time.

Dark bruises stretched up his neck and across the left side of his face. There were small scratches and scrapes on his face, around his swollen eyes and one larger cut just on his hairline. The wound had clotted, rust-red blood clumped through his hair and around his ear.

His clothes were as tattered and worn as they had always been, but there was a tear across the shoulder of his jacket, and as he reached a hand up to prod one of the bruises on his face, gravel, soil and dirt rubbed off the fabric.

His left arm was throbbing dully, mostly in his shoulder, and his side and stomach ached from the beating.

He’d seen better days.

After a while, he snapped himself out of his daze, brushing his jacket off as best as he could with limited mobility, and then ventured beyond the bedroom, looking for a bathroom where he could wash.

Merlin’s flat was small. The bedroom faced the bathroom across the hall, the corridor stretching to the left where it opened up into the living room, and through a door off that, Arthur could glimpse Merlin moving around an oven. The bathroom was much like the bedroom, a little chipped, plain, but clean. There was a certain freshness to it, and the daylight spilled through the frosted glass window making distorted patterns on the floor.

Arthur glanced at the shower, then decided he didn’t want to be caught unawares, and instead took to the sink, splashing water up at his face and through his hair as best he could. The water that splashed back into the bowl was filthy.

He startled as the water began running warm. Holding his hand under it for a moment, he simply stared. They hadn’t had warm water in the Fortress for _years_.

He grabbed the soap and started washing more thoroughly, until the water that splashed back was clear.

It was a far cry from what he was used to. The washing facilities at the Fortress were communal, rusting pipes and taps spraying out cold water. It was enough to rinse the day’s grime and dirt away, but never enough to feel _clean_.

Movement in the mirror over the sick caught his attention and he spun around, senses immediately going on high alert until he realised it was just Merlin.

“Something wrong with the shower?” Merlin asked.

“No, it’s just …” Arthur shrugged a little helplessly. “I didn’t want to …”

Merlin didn’t seem to be listening, instead he stepped a little closer, gesturing to a point on Arthur’s hairline.

“You missed a bit,” he pointed out.

Arthur glanced back at the mirror, noticing a stain of dirt and blood that he had indeed missed.

Reaching to wipe it away, however, he winced, pain flaring in his shoulder at the movement.

“Here, let me,” Merlin said quietly, stepping into Arthur’s space and taking the soap from Arthur’s hands.  Rubbing it between his hands until he’d worked up a lather he then began gently massaging it into Arthur’s scalp.

Arthur stood still, eyes flicking to Merlin and then away, then back again.

There was a tenderness in Merlin’s movements. A care and attentiveness as he gently worked the soap over Arthur’s bruised skin and around the cuts and scrapes.

Arthur stood dangerously near to collapsing into that touch, all too aware that this was… close. Intimate.

He didn’t even know the man.

Merlin placed the bar of soap back in the chipped soap rack, and reached for a face cloth, rinsing it under warm water before he steadily began wiping the soapsuds away. His fingers were gentle and precise, teasing the clods of dirt and blood from Arthur’s hair, and methodically wiping away every last stain.

He dropped the cloth into the sink, and handed Arthur a towel.

Mindful of the bruises, Arthur patted away the moisture from his hair and skin.

“Thank you,” he said eventually, handing the towel back.

“Sorry I can’t do anything about the bruises,” Merlin replied. “But I’ve got a tonic for the pain.”

He turned and left the room and after a moment, Arthur followed, catching sight of his reflection in the mirror and almost not recognising himself.

As he reached the kitchen, he found Merlin exiting it with two laden plates, and a small bottle tucked into one hand. A small frown creased his forehead and his lips were pressed tightly together.

He handed Arthur his plate, followed by the bottle.

“Just one mouthful will be enough,” he said.

Arthur eyed the dark green contents dubiously, but eventually the ache in his shoulder and stomach won over and one-handed he flipped the top off the bottle and let the liquid trickle between his lips.

It tasted foul. It was only from years of Gaius’ remedies that Arthur had enough will-power not to spit it straight back out.

Merlin pulled a face. “Yeah, I know. It’s not the best taste, but it’ll work.” He headed for a seat and Arthur turned to do the same, trying to ignore the question of whether Merlin had just poisoned him or not.

It would be silly. Ridiculous. Merlin had had plenty of time to kill him already, poisoning him seemed fairly pointless.

Once they were both settled across from each other, Arthur on the couch, Merlin in the armchair, plates balanced on knees, Merlin fixed Arthur with a pointed stare.

“So, Arthur. What’s your last name?”

“Pendragon,” Arthur replied, his grip on his cutlery tightening as he realised Merlin was about to start asking questions, and Arthur wouldn’t be able to answer them. He hoped his surname was safe. As far as he knew, his father’s leadership of the Fortress was not a widespread fact.

Merlin nodded, spiking a bit of egg on the end of his fork.

“And where do you come from?” he asked.

Arthur chewed slowly on a piece of bacon, brain racing for an answer.

“Out of town,” he replied, a little lamely.

Merlin raised an eyebrow, clearly not impressed.

“Whereabouts?”

Arthur swallowed with difficulty, picking a random name from memories of countless patrols and foraging missions.

“Small place. Ealdor. You probably haven’t heard of it.”

He ducked his head to avoid Merlin’s gaze, altogether missing the expression of shock that crossed Merlin’s face.

“Right,” Merlin said a little while later, his voice sounding oddly strained to Arthur. “And why are you in town?”

Arthur’s lips thinned.

“Why the sudden interrogation?” he asked, trying hard not to snap.

Merlin raised an eyebrow slightly.

“You stumble into the bar, covered in bruises and injured, then wind up getting attacked on the street. I’ve brought you home and given you a bed for the night. Don’t you think I deserve some answers?”

“You didn’t have to help me,” Arthur muttered.

“Oh, yes, and you were doing so well by yourself,” Merlin responded sharply. He bit his lip and looked a little guilty. “Sorry. I guess. I just wanted to know a bit about you.”

Arthur felt a dull pain well up in his chest.

It was the genuine kindness that he felt helpless against. To those in the Fortress, anyone above ground was an enemy. And enemies weren’t meant to be nice to you.

“There’s nothing to tell,” he replied, unable to prevent the bitterness from entering his tone, because a part of him believed it to be true.

“I doubt that.”

Arthur glanced up and found Merlin looking at him intently.

“What makes you say that?” he asked.

“Oh.” Merlin looked down, long fingers running along the edge of his plate agitatedly. “I just thought… Well. I don’t save every stranger on the street,” he said, giving a small shrug.

“I’m special then, am I?” Arthur replied, a small smile tugging his lips because Merlin was… Merlin was _blushing_.

“No need to be big-headed about it,” Merlin shot back, a teasing grin awakening on his face. “You just have this damsel-in-distress look about you.”

“Me?” Arthur said incredulously. “A damsel?”

Merlin had to bite his lips shut to stop his grin spreading. He nodded, trying to present a serious expression.

“A truly helpless princess.”

“And what does that make you?” Arthur snorted. “My knight in shining armour?”

Merlin beamed, looking thoroughly proud of himself.

“You wouldn’t even be able to stand up in full armour,” Arthur said.

“Oi.” Merlin waved his fork in Arthur’s direction. “Don’t bite the hand that feeds you.” He paused, an elated smile breaking out on his face. “Literally,” he added, with a wink.

Arthur was too caught up in that beaming smile to even begin to think of an appropriate comeback.

Looking very pleased with his own level of wit, Merlin cut a piece of toast in half and then addressed Arthur again.

“So, you said you were looking for someone called Sigan,” he said, loading egg onto the toast. 

Any defenses that Arthur had let fall down at that smile, he immediately threw back up. He didn’t need much reminder to know that this place wasn’t his home, and he couldn’t let his guard down for a moment.

The above ground world was a dangerous place. Uther had made that abundantly clear over the years, and Arthur had seen it for himself, out on foraging missions, leading patrols, defending the Fortress against attacks. Magicals held all the cards up here. You couldn’t trust a magical.

That was what Uther had always said.

“Yes,” he said shortly.

“Why?”

Arthur swallowed down his bacon with difficulty.

“I need his help.”

Merlin tilted his head on one side, a quizzical frown crossing his face.

“Why?”

“You like asking questions don’t you, _Mer_ lin?” Arthur said, ducking the questions.

“You don’t like answering them,” Merlin responded pointedly.

Arthur breathed out loudly through his nose. Staring down at his plate, he realised he didn’t feel the slightest bit hungry. The food was much richer than that he was used to at the Fortress. The bacon and eggs sat heavy in his stomach even as he forced up another lie for Merlin.

“As I said, there’s not much to say.”

He put his plate to one side, feeling sick with himself as Merlin’s expression crumpled.

“Does it not taste good?” he asked haltingly.

“No. No. I’m just… not hungry.”

They had drifted to silence, and after a little while longer where Merlin steadily ate his plate of food, and Arthur stared around the room, trying to look at nothing in particular, Merlin got to his feet.

“I need to go to work,” he said abruptly.

“Oh.” Arthur got awkwardly to his feet. “I’ll be going then.”

“No. You don’t have to. Well. If you want to you’re welcome to leave, but you’re also welcome to stay.” Merlin studiously avoided Arthur’s gaze.

Arthur wished he could map out and understand the multitude of emotions Merlin was displaying in that moment, but before he had chance to get close, Merlin closed off, giving Arthur a rueful grin.

“Sorry, I’m babbling,” he said. “You’re welcome to stay here, if you need to. Or if you want to come to work with me, until you figure out where you’re going…” he trailed off, looking at Arthur with a mixture of hopefulness and uncertainty.

Arthur looked at that veiled desire in Merlin’s expression, and found his heart aching a little for something he hadn’t realised he’d missed until now.

Merlin was the first person in his life who cared for him.

Caution and worries thrown to the wind - because how could that open, innocent expression be anything but the truth? – Arthur summoned a smile.

“I’ll come to your work, if you don’t mind? I need to learn my way around town.”

Merlin’s smile was like waking to the sun all over again.


	4. Chapter 4

As they made their way through the streets, Merlin kept a close eye on Arthur. He seemed tense and on-edge. Every loud noise or person walking too close had him drawing his ears up to his shoulders and moving subtly away.

It wasn’t fear exactly, from what Merlin could tell. It was more wariness, a careful calculation of the odds. And it wasn’t that Arthur wasn’t brave to face danger, he was just wise enough to avoid a fight he knew he couldn’t win.

He was attracting attention, however. There was no hiding the obvious bruises, nor the way he was keeping his arm close to his chest in discomfort.

For non-magicals to be out on the streets injured wasn’t uncommon. Despite years of harsh rule under magicals, which forced many to flee day after day to look for a better future, there were still those among the non-magical community who still retained their pride, or stubbornly refused to deviate from their lives.

To Gwaine, Will and Elyan it was something about not showing weakness. Over the years, Merlin had steadily come to understand that they wouldn’t back down, wouldn’t run away and hide in the Fortress or the Haven, wouldn’t let violence and danger stop them from going about their lives.

He admired them for it, but rarely told them. Usually it was just him telling them to be careful as he subtly warded off every magical who thought they could have a piece of Merlin’s friends.

He was doing that now. Sending out small bursts of magic, so that to any magical passing by it was abundantly clear – Arthur was Merlin’s. Back off.

Maybe it wasn’t _just_ Arthur who was attracting attention.

Once they reached the streets near Merlin’s work, the crowds thinned and little by little, Merlin saw Arthur relax.

After a time, he began to look around more openly, more in interest than in fear.

“It’s… different. To what I expected,” Arthur clarified after he caught Merlin staring. “And to what I’m used to.”

“This is one of the nicer parts,” Merlin explained. “Less people. Mainly magicals.”

He regretted what he said instantly as Arthur’s expression closed off and he immediately began regarding passers-by with distrust.

“It’s a very peaceful neighbourhood,” Merlin added quickly, but Arthur didn’t respond.

They passed through the doorway and corridor, and into the library beyond.

Behind him, Merlin heard Arthur bite back a gasp.

“You work _here_?” He asked, his voice hushed, but still maintaining a tone of stout disbelief.

Merlin shot a grin over his shoulder. “Full of surprises, aren’t I?”

“Late again, Merlin.” Geoffrey stepped out from behind a bookcase, frowning heavily. He started, however, when he saw Arthur.

Potentially, Arthur was the first member of the public Geoffrey had seen in the library for several years.

“Yes, sorry about that. And this is Arthur. He’s just going to be here today, hope that’s fine!”

Merlin grabbed Arthur’s arm and yanked him past Geoffrey before the other man could get a word in.

Safely tucked out of sight several aisles down the corridor, Arthur quirked a brow at Merlin.

“What was that about?”

“He’ll ask questions,” Merlin replied. “And I don’t think you want to be the one answering them?”

“Ah.”

Both of them suddenly seemed to realise the close proximity in which they were stood, and the fact that Merlin’s fingers were still clasped around Arthur’s wrist.

With an awkward cough, Merlin stepped back, letting go of Arthur’s arm.

“Right, well. I just have to do some sorting. Feel free to explore, just don’t get lost.” He pulled what he hoped was a cheeky smile onto his face and slipped off before Arthur could respond.

Around a corner, he sank down against a stack of books and let out a long, steady breath.

This was insane.

It was like dancing round a fire, one step away from being burned, one step away from losing Arthur forever and Merlin _couldn’t_ let that happen. Not when they’d only just met. Not when, for some reason, he felt like he knew Arthur… and wanted to know him more.

His emotions were being thrown violently from hot to cold because he didn’t know how to act around Arthur, didn’t know what to say, didn’t know what to feel.

It didn’t help that he knew Arthur Pendragon was lying.

The moment Arthur had said Ealdor had confirmed it for Merlin, but it was more than that, because Arthur had ducked every one of his questions, had avoided Merlin’s gaze and snapped angrily when Merlin pried too deep.

There were things Arthur didn’t want Merlin to know.

Then again, Merlin was no saint when it came to keeping secrets.

Arthur was a stranger. They had been thrown together in a moment of desperation and necessity and Merlin had no need, no _right_ to ask more of Arthur than Arthur wanted to give.

With any luck, Arthur would find this Sigan and be gone before Merlin had a chance to fall too far.

But Merlin knew he was already beyond hope.

He closed his eyes briefly, rubbing his fingertips against his temples to ease his building headache.

Why, of all places, had Arthur had to say Ealdor?

Ealdor had been burned and destroyed many years ago, and Merlin had lost everything there.

And now, whatever little flame of trust he’d placed in Arthur, he’d lost that too.

* * *

Arthur meandered between the aisles, his gaze drifting unseeingly from book to book, his mind focussed on other things.

Mainly on Merlin.

He couldn’t figure the man out. Couldn’t get a grip on who he was, what he was like. He bounced so swiftly from friendly to aloof that Arthur had a hard time keeping up.

One moment he was tenderly cleaning Arthur’s wounds, the next grilling Arthur in the manner of a master interrogator.

And the more Arthur saw of Merlin’s life, the more confused he became.

Merlin was so at ease among magicals – magicals who would surely see Merlin as an easy target – and he walked the streets in comfort, not wariness, not unease. And his work… The library practically screamed magic, almost all the books, scrolls and tomes related to magical topics: potion brewing, healing spells, defensive spells, magical history …

Why would Merlin even be allowed to work here? Why would he even want to?

Later in the day, when he was right at the heart of the library, a red covered book with gold embossing on the spine caught his eye.

_The role of non-magicals in a magical society._

He realised it would hardly be light reading, but flipped open the cover anyway. A gruesome picture of a non-magical lying screaming on the ground with a magical stood over him, met his eyes.

“You’re Arthur Pendragon.”

Arthur span around, snapping the book shut and immediately going on the offensive.

It was the librarian; Merlin hadn’t mentioned his name.

“I’ve no idea who you’re talking about,” he replied quickly.

“I’m Geoffrey of Monmouth,” the man replied. “An old friend of Gaius’.”

“Gaius?” the startled yelp escaped Arthur before he could stop himself.

“We knew each other before he went to help the Fortress,” Geoffrey replied gravely. “And I have never seen him since.”

Arthur closed his mouth, tensing up a little because he didn’t know how this Geoffrey would act.

“Why are you here?” Geoffrey asked after a moment of Arthur’s silence.

“It doesn’t concern you,” Arthur responded gruffly.

“I am only surprised, that is all, that Uther would let you come here.”

“My father-” Arthur cut himself short from what he’d been about to say. He ducked his head. “My father doesn’t know I’m here.”

“Ah.”

“I’m here to find someone who can help us. My father didn’t want me to come, but circumstances… changed.”

“Uther would not have wanted you to come. The truth of the outside world would prevent you from being the perfect warrior he has always intended for you to be.”

Arthur felt a clench in his gut.

“Uther has never hidden anything from me,” he replied stubbornly.

“Really?” Geoffrey asked, raised his eyebrows knowingly. “You expect me to believe that Uther told you everything about the outside world? The Fortress has not been your sanctuary, Arthur. It has been your prison.”

Arthur’s mind flashed rapidly through a cycle of images. Broke scanners. Better living standards. Merlin smiling. This wasn’t the world he’d been led to believe it was.

“You can’t say that,” Arthur said forcefully. “You don’t know me.”

“No. But I know Uther. And I know of the Old Legends. I know who you are destined to become.”

Arthur stopped short.

“I don’t have a destiny,” he said bluntly.

“On the contrary,” Geoffrey replied, something of a smile breaking on his face. “You have the greatest destiny Albion has ever known. But there is another, with whom you share your fate-” He broke off, head darting sideways as footsteps and soft humming reached their ears.

Geoffrey closed his mouth, shook his head to himself and then turned and pulled a book down from the shelf.

“Try this instead,” he suggested. “You’ll find it much more… _illuminating_.” He gave the red book in Arthur’s hands an angry stare and stuffed the second into his grasp.

At that moment, Merlin strolled around the corner, a stack of books in his arms. His face morphed into an expression of comical confusion when he saw Arthur and Geoffrey.

Before Arthur could resist, Geoffrey had snatched the red book from his hands, turned on his heel and walked off.

“What was that about?” Merlin asked.

“He was giving me some reading material,” Arthur replied, waving the book in his hands in front of Merlin. It was small, with a plain brown cover and no title.

Arthur stuffed it away inside his jacket before Merlin could ask to look.

“Well I’m nearly done here,” Merlin said, dropping the stack of books on the floor.

“What is it exactly that you do?” Arthur asked, giving the books a pointed look as they toppled over, causing even more of a mess than before.

“Oh, I sort things and catalogue things,” Merlin replied, giving a shrug. “Whatever I feel like.”

Arthur snorted. “How on earth did someone like you end up with that job?”

Merlin looked mildly affronted, clearly trying to work out what Arthur had been insinuating.

“My mother had a friend who knew Geoffrey years ago… and anyway, I’m good at my job,” he added, pouting at Arthur’s insult.

Arthur tried to ignore the drop in his stomach at the mention of a friend of Geoffrey. There was no way, no possible way…

“Besides, what I was going to say was that I know a good curry shop, I was wondering if you wanted to get dinner with me there after we’re done.”

Arthur blinked at the sudden change in conversation and couldn’t help the smile that broke out on his face.

“That is, if you’re not going to be heading off somewhere else tonight?” Merlin asked, ducking his head and fidgeting with the cuff of his shirt. “I mean, you didn’t really say what your plans were.”

Arthur bit his lip, uncertain of how much to say, or how to respond. In truth, he didn’t have the slightest idea of how to find Sigan, or to even go about persuading the man to their cause.

Merlin’s offer of help seemed very tempting in the face of such bleak prospects.

“If you don’t mind letting me stay another night,” Arthur said, choosing his words carefully, “I’ll be able to find my feet tomorrow.” He gave a quiet chuckle. “I’ll be out of your way then.”

“It’s not a problem,” Merlin responded quickly. Then he seemed to catch himself and smiled shyly. “I don’t mind having you round. It’s nice not to be alone.”

“And I can’t say how much I appreciate the help,” Arthur responded, realising he sounded overly formal, but not wanting to lead the conversation down _other_ paths.

“Great. I’ll just finish what I’m doing and then come find you,” Merlin said, beaming once again.

As Merlin walked away, Arthur realised just how much had loved that smile.

He pulled the book out of his jacket and turned to the first page.

_The Rule of the Pendragons from the Great Purge to the fall of Albion: A History_

Arthur’s eyebrows reached his hairline in an expression of surprise.

He wondered if Geoffrey had given him the book as a joke, if perhaps the old man was a magical, intent on confusing and tricking Arthur…

He shook his head at the notion. It was too petty, too ridiculous to consider, and there had been real sincerity in Geoffrey’s words. He wanted Arthur to know the truth.

Arthur just didn’t know if he himself was ready for the truth, whatever it might be.

Even from that one line of text, he could feel his understanding of the world crumbling.

And he was terrified of the fall.

* * *

The night market was in full swing as Merlin and Arthur wandered along the street weaving between vendors, customers and passers-by.

Arthur was trying hard to disguise his amazement at the bright, vibrant world around them.

Merlin himself was half laughing out of sheer happiness. The night market hadn’t been this good for months. Constant attacks and fights between both sides had curtailed the excitement and cheerfulness, non-magicals too afraid to venture out, magicals not interested in a lacklustre event.

But tonight, for a strange and wonderful moment, there was peace.

The variation between magical and non-magical stalls was noticeable, but not overly obvious.

Merlin could sense the magic emanating from the stall selling delicate wooden wind chimes and mobiles. The tiny griffins and chimeras hanging from the mobiles steadily flapping their wings or clawing at the air. The stall beside it where a young, non-magical girl was selling miniature wooden dragons, painted in a myriad of colours, breathed its own sort of magic, however.

A few steps behind him, Merlin could tell Arthur had caught on to the mix of magical and non-magical in the market, but instead of his earlier distrust Arthur was looking around in wonder, a small, bemused smile on his face.

Merlin turned and shot him a smile.

“It’s good, isn’t it?”

Arthur nodded slowly, somewhat in his own little world.

“I had no idea this sort of thing existed,” he admitted.

Merlin slowed his pace, falling into step beside Arthur.

“I know it may seem like Camelot is always dark and dangerous. That everyone is just out to fight and kill each other … but there are moments, like this, when things aren’t so bad.”

Arthur nodded his head slowly.

“I can see that,” he replied. “But…”

Arthur glanced around him, bowing his head towards Merlin and lowering his voice so he wouldn’t be overheard.

“Magic is still dangerous. Think about that man last night. It’s not right for them to wield a power like that. And it makes us nothing more than slaves to their whims.”

Merlin’s throat knotted up and all he could manage was a nod in response.

There was something about the way Arthur spoke about magicals, his particular choice of words… 

There wasn’t any feeling in it, any _real_ emotion. It sounded more like a repetition, a recitation of something that had been drilled into him, taught over and over.

Or maybe Merlin was overthinking it. Maybe he was just hoping too hard that perhaps Arthur didn’t really believe in what he said.

They passed through the area of the market selling trinkets and decorations and on to the food stalls.

The air was rich with the scents of spices and herbs, warm soups, pies, stews and curries all mixing together in the early evening air.

Merlin dodged between the stalls, knowing where to head because Elena and Mithian had always set up their stall in the same place and no one would even _dare_ to steal it from them.

Elena squealed when she spotted him, waving her wooden spoon exuberantly and splattering Mithian with curry.

Mithian gave him a calmer wave, but no less welcoming.

“We haven’t seen you in ages!” Elena said, leaning across the stall and giving him a hug. “Don’t worry though, we made your favourite.”

A couple of other customers descended upon the stall at that moment and both Elena and Mithian were distracted, dolling out pots of curry and handing over naan breads in exchange for money.

Merlin was happy to see they both looked well. The threats of violence were clearly not taking too great a toll on the pair.

“So,” Mithian said as the customers disappeared, “how’ve you been?”

“Fine,” Merlin replied, moving a little closer to warm his hands over the stove on their stall. “And both of you? How’s the café doing?”

“We’ve stayed open,” Mithian replied, a small strain in her smile giving away some of the stress she was under. “It hasn’t always been easy, and some magicals have been giving us trouble, and before you even think of it, don’t _worry_. Daegal’s been keeping it all under control. We can’t thank you enough for introducing him to us.”

Daegal was Elena and Mithian’s manager and doubled as their security. He had enough of a magical presence to keep the thugs away, and as Merlin couldn’t be around to look out for all his friends, Daegal had been the perfect solution to Elena and Mithian’s troubles.

“Not a problem,” Merlin replied. “Couldn’t let anything happen to my favourite curry shop now, could I?” He grinned and Mithian seemed to relax a bit. She nodded over his shoulder.

“Either you’re being followed or you’ve picked up a stray.”

Merlin turned to find Arthur loitering nearby, shooting uneasy glances at a nearby stall whose stove was burning with bright green flames.

“Arthur,” he called, and Arthur jumped a little before coming across the street to join them.

“Meet Mithian and Elena, friends of mine.” Merlin determinedly ignored the teasing smirk Arthur shot his way. He could practically hear Arthur’s voice in his head – _you have friends then, do you?_

“Pleasure,” Arthur replied, he shifted his stance, becoming subtly closed off as he offered his hand to Mithian and Elena in turn.

Elena glanced between Merlin and Arthur and gave a slightly awkward laugh.

Merlin scratched the back of his head and gave Mithian a tight smile over Arthur’s shoulder.

“Anyway,” Arthur said, suddenly seeming to realise the strange atmosphere. “Merlin said your curry was good.”

“Best in town if we do say ourselves,” Elena said, tugging Mithian in for a one-armed hug around the waist.

“Well best let us try some,” Merlin replied, jumping in quickly. “Or we’ll get bored and go sample someone else’s.”

“You never would,” Elena said, looking scandalised and brandishing her spoon at Merlin.

Mithian rolled her eyes and passed over two steaming pots of thick chicken korma.

“Are you new in town?” she asked Arthur, not letting go of the pot of curry as she handed it to him.

“Yes,” Arthur replied. “I got here last night.”

“Merlin looking after you?” Mithian’s eyes narrowed.

“Perfectly well.”

“Mith,” Merlin began, but Elena got there first.

“Do you want a job?”

Mithian looked incredulous, Arthur slightly stunned and Merlin caught hold of the pot of curry before either of them could drop it.

“What?” Elena asked. “We need a waiter, you’re a friend of Merlin’s, not half bad looking?”

“Not half bad?” There was suddenly life in Arthur’s expression, an arrogant pout to his lips.

“Well…” Elena looked considering, glancing Arthur up and down.

Arthur gave an exasperated huff and rounded on Merlin.

“Surely I’m better than not half bad?” he demanded.

Merlin froze, unable to utter a word for fear of what his runaway mind might churn out.

He was saved from answering by an explosion at the end of the street.

Flames, bright blue and purple exploded out from a house on the corner and within moments, stalls were on fire and the flames were spreading from house to house.

Merlin dropped the curry, heedless of the mess and grabbed Arthur’s arm. Elena and Mithian frantically began packing up what they could and heading off up the street.

“You can’t fight them,” he said, dragging Arthur away up the street. Arthur resisted furiously, trying to get closer to the attack, but Merlin clung on determinedly, helping himself a little with magic.

“Merlin. _Mer_ lin!” Arthur planted his feet on the cobbles. “There’re people who need help.”

Merlin spun to face Arthur. “You can’t fight magic, Arthur. It’s too dangerous.”

A fireball shot into the sky, lending dramatic effect to his words.

Further down the street, people were screaming.

“But what about the civilians?” Arthur demanded. “The people in the houses? Someone needs to help them!”

Merlin was torn. He had half planned to get Arthur to safety and then come back himself to help. But by then it would be too late. The fires were spreading.

“Alright,” he said, snapping to a decision. “Come on. But we need to stay hidden!”

They ran back down the cobbled street, against the flow of people fleeing in the opposite direction. As they neared the corner, the smoke thickened, and flames licked the air around them.

The stalls were burning, and beyond the windows of the houses, Merlin could see fire burning up rooms.

People lay on the cobbles, unmoving.

The heat was almost unbearable.

“Over here,” Arthur said quietly, pulling Merlin down behind a row of barrels, untouched by the flames.

They looked out from between the barrels, watching as the chaos worsened on the streets. Merlin could feel Arthur tensing beside him, ready to spring on the attack.

“Right,” Arthur said. “We need to get the people out of the way. There’s an alleyway just behind us that will do. And we need to check the houses, try to get people out. I’ll take the far side of the street, you take this one.”

“Arthur, no-” Merlin protested, but Arthur was already gone, vanishing in the smoke a moment later.

“Prat,” Merlin muttered under his breath.

He darted out from behind the barrels a moment later, running to a small girl lying on the cobbles. She was still breathing, but one side of her face was badly singed.

Merlin could sense the small, bright spark of magic inside her, and poured out a little of his own to strengthen her. Where her own bodily functions could not protect her, her magic would, and even as Merlin lifted her up into his arms, she began to stir.

“Hey,” he said, “it’s ok.”

He ran back up the street as fast as he could, glancing back over his shoulder as much as he could.

The fires were burning higher now, but no attacker had yet appeared. That wasn’t like magicals. Most wanted the glory and to display their power.

He laid the girl down in the alley, making sure to cast a protective charm over the area so the fires wouldn’t touch it.

Then he dashed back down the street.

It was exhausting work. The smoke and heat from the flames slowing him down and making it hard to see and breathe.

Merlin did what he could with his magic, but he was growing tired physically and needed all of his strength to drag the survivors from the wreckage of their stalls and homes.

He glimpsed Arthur once or twice, a strong, dark figure in the smoke. His heart tugged painfully each time. Arthur’s solitary determination and drive keeping him going.

He realised that Arthur hadn’t wanted to fight; Arthur had wanted to go back and save people.

Sometime later, when the smoke was beginning to clear and the fires finally dying down, Merlin let his magic loose, scanning over the area to see if there was anyone still trapped inside.

Only one person registered as nearby and Merlin jumped, turning to find Arthur stood just behind him.

His hair was ragged and stuck up in places, his face streaked with soot and smoke stains which mingled with the bruises and made him almost unrecognisable. There was a small scratch along his jaw.

“Do you think we got everyone?” Arthur asked, his voice hoarse.

“Yes,” Merlin replied, trying to sound as sure as he could, because he _knew_ there was no one left and he didn’t want to make Arthur risk going back into the houses again.

Arthur nodded and then took a small step forward, reaching out to brush something from Merlin’s hair.

“Bit of ash,” he mumbled, looking suddenly self-conscious.

People were beginning to appear at both ends of the street, their eyes wide, expressions stunned.

Both Merlin and Arthur instinctively retreated back into the shadow of a house so they wouldn’t be seen.

“You did well,” Arthur commented, a small smile on his face. “That was hard work. There’s more to you than meets the eye, isn’t there?”

Merlin ignored the cold rush of unease at Arthur’s words. 

“Thank you for making us go back,” he replied quickly. “It was the right thing to do.”

Arthur’s expression sobered and he nodded. “I couldn’t let people get hurt.”

They were both startled as another bang sounded from the corner. People cried out and several turned-tail, heading back to where they had come from.

A man in black robes stepped into the middle of the street.

He was thin and short. His face pinched and his cheeks hollow. Slick black hair framed his face.

“This is my empire!” he called, spreading his arms wide at the chaos around him. “I am the master of destruction. You will all fear me!”

Arthur had set his jaw, his hands balled into fists, ready for a fight.

“You’ve destroyed our homes!” One brave - or foolish - bystander called out. “Our livelihoods!”

“Kneel before me, and you will be rewarded ten-fold!” the man promised, a slimy grin spreading across his face.

“You killed my daughter!” Someone else roared, and then there was an angry shout, an incantation.

Merlin pulled Arthur down to the ground with barely a moment’s warning before a bright white light exploded across the space.

Many people screamed, the magicals among them, throwing up shields to deflect the curse.

As the light faded, the man was still stood in the middle of the street. Still smiling.

“I am Sigan,” he said, his voice deep. “I am Cornelius Sigan of legend. Your petty tricks cannot defeat me!”

Beside Merlin, Arthur had gone still.

Surely, _surely_ , this couldn’t be the man Arthur had come to look for?

“Try _this_ then!” A woman screamed and Merlin flattened himself on top of Arthur as above their heads, a fight broke out.

Several magicals joined in on the attack, and Sigan was forced to fight back in the face of so many spells.

Non-magicals and the weaker magicals fled as bright lights and flames singed the cobbles. The glass of the surrounding houses cracked. The ground trembled.

“Come on!” Merlin yelled over the noise. “We need to get out of here!”

They scrambled upright, Arthur in something of a daze as Merlin dragged him around a corner, subtly shielding them with magic.

They escaped down an alleyway where some of the people they had rescued were just waking up.

“You need to get out of here!” Merlin yelled back at them, as he pushed Arthur ahead of him, breaking into a run as the ground shook even more.

The street lamps around them flickered and the night air was filled with the noise of thunder.

Arthur was pale as Merlin pushed him onwards.

Eventually, the noises faded behind them and the pair came to a stop, both panting heavily.

“That man,” Merlin said, “that man was Sigan. The one you were looking for.”

“I don’t want to talk about it,” Arthur responded bluntly, his expression closing off.

After a beat, to catch their breath, they wordlessly began walking again, Merlin leading the way home through the darkening streets.

A stitch was knotted in his side and his vision weaved a little from lack of energy.

It was meant to have been a nice evening out, getting Arthur dinner, heading back to the flat and maybe talking, perhaps finding out a little more about him.

How did it end up like this?

The flight of steps up to the flat felt like a mountain, and when they reached the cheerless, dark interior, neither said a word. They were both too exhausted.

“I’ll take the couch,” Arthur grunted eventually, and Merlin didn’t have the energy to think up an argument in response.

He had washed, changed into his pyjamas and was just crossing the hallway into his bedroom when he saw Arthur, sat on the couch and staring at his hands.

Warm yellow light from the street lamps outside poured in through the window and cast Arthur in a strange orange glow.

He looked wretched. His eyes were fixed on his hands where he was twisting a thick silver ring back and forth on his index finger. His gaze was focused somewhere far beyond his hands, however, staring into something dark and dismal.

“Are you alright?” Merlin asked.

Arthur was silent for a moment and then he lifted his head to meet Merlin’s gaze.

“How can you live somewhere like this?” His voice was hoarse and cracked. “You said it wasn’t all bad, but how can you live in a place where one man can tear apart lives just because he wants to?”

Merlin bit his lips, not trusting himself to speak.

“I just don’t understand.” Arthur dropped his gaze again and Merlin was left not knowing what to say or do.

After what seemed like an age, he turned to his bedroom.

“Goodnight, Arthur.”

There was no response.

* * *

“You’re being called the heroes of Camelot,” Mithian said, dumping a newspaper down on the kitchen table and raising an eyebrow.

“It’s actually kind of cute when you think about it,” Elena replied, drinking orange juice through a straw and slurping noisily.

“I don’t think we were trying for cute,” Merlin said quietly, poking vegetables round his plate with a small frown on his face.

Elena and Mithian had appeared at the flat not long after midday to find both Merlin and Arthur still asleep, the door unlocked, and a stray cat wreaking havoc in the kitchen.

After getting rid of the cat, and waking both of them up, the girls had made them lunch.

“After all,” Elena had pointed out, “you never did get our curry.”

Arthur had woken in the same dismal mood as he had gone to sleep in the night before, but the appearance of Elena and Mithian meant he had to jump out of his sombre musings and focus on what was going on.

Five veg, roast chicken and gravy. Arthur didn’t think he’d seen so many different types of vegetables in months.

“I didn’t even have chicken in the freezer,” Merlin had protested wearily.

“Call it our treat,” Elena responded, thumping down a plateful in front of him.

The food was good, above and beyond anything Arthur had ever had at the Fortress. But as with the previous day’s breakfast, his stomach was rebelling. It was just so rich, so flavoursome, that after a lifetime of bland tastes and meagre rations – his even smaller than most because he couldn’t bear to see some of the smaller children go hungry – every mouthful was a struggle.

Before he had even finished half, he had to push his plate away, his stomach threatening revolt.

“It’s really good, honestly,” he insisted at the hurt looks on the girls’ faces. “I’m just not used to so much.”

Mithian’s eyes narrowed.

“Yes, where exactly do you come from? I don’t think you mentioned.”

“Here and there,” Arthur replied, shrugging and avoiding Mithian’s gaze.

“Why did you come to Camelot?” Elena asked, subtly sliding Arthur’s plate across the table and adding his leftovers to her own plate.

“I was… er… looking for someone.” He found himself coming under Merlin’s scrutiny and immediately looked away. “But it turns out they’re not who I thought they were. So… I’m at a bit of a loose end I guess.”

“So you need a job?” Elena asked. “You never did say if you’d work for us last night.”

Arthur realised he couldn’t continue staring at the table and so he looked up.

Mithian was regarding him coolly, but not in complete hostility. Elena was cutting up her cabbage, completely unconcerned. But it was Merlin, his face quietly hopeful, that had Arthur responding.

“Yeah, sure. I’d love to.”

And there it was, the small glimpse of that smile Arthur loved so much, before Merlin bowed his head, returning to his food.

“Brilliant!” Elena said, grinning at him around a mouthful of chicken and carrot. “Can you start tomorrow?”

Arthur felt a smile breaking out on his own face.

“Sounds great.”

“And Arthur will be staying here for the next few days, so you’ll know where to find him,” Merlin added.

Arthur started with surprise, but Merlin wouldn’t quite meet his eye.

“Well,” Mithian said, “it’s good to know you two are alright. Hopefully you won’t have to save the world again by tomorrow, Arthur.” She tapped the paper and rolled her eyes. “It won’t do much for business if one of my waiters is having to run off and be a superhero.”

“I’m not a-” Arthur began, but Elena just patted him on the head fondly.

“She’s just joking.”

“Oh.” Arthur tried to hide his embarrassment, but the others were already laughing.

“We’ll see you tomorrow,” Elena said. “Ten o’clock work for you?”

“Ten sounds fine,” Arthur replied.

There was a flurry of goodbyes and then Elena and Mithian were gone, leaving a sudden void in their wake.

Arthur turned to find Merlin, a frown on his face, watching Arthur intently.

Neither said a word for a long time.

“About last night-” Arthur tried for eventually, but Merlin cut him off with a wave of his hand.

“There’s nothing to say.”

“But-”

“There’s nothing to say,” Merlin repeated, more firmly. He collected the dirty dishes from the table and deposited them in the sink, running hot water over them.

Arthur fidgeted where he stood, too unsure of how to respond. His fear got the better of him.

He wondered why that was. He’d never been afraid before, never nervous of approaching someone. So why did Merlin have him stumbling around like he was blind, every notion of what he should be doing somehow turned on its head?

“About staying here…” he started, noticing how Merlin went still at the sink.

“You don’t have to,” Merlin replied. “I just thought, seen as Sigan’s probably dead by now… But obviously you’ll probably want to head back home, wherever that is. I don’t know why I said it. You may as well-”

“I want to stay.” Arthur cut across Merlin’s babble, for a moment glimpsing where Merlin may have gone with that sentence, and dreading the fact that he would have agreed. That he would have left, if Merlin said so, and gone back to the Fortress, or else just wandered the city. He would never have seen Merlin again, and that thought hurt him more than he could possibly say. “I want to stay.”

Merlin turned to face him, up to his elbows in bubbles from the sink. A small, timid expression of hope began to break out on his face.

“Really?”

“I want to stay,” Arthur repeated for the third time. “If… if you want me to.”

Merlin nodded quickly, smiling bright and eager.

“That’s fine! Honestly, that’s great. I didn’t want you to go. I don’t think I’d… well, you’ve made rather an impression for someone I’ve only known for two days.”

“I’m just lucky I found you,” Arthur replied. “Someone else might not have been so…” He trailed off, uncertain of what word to use. Lovely? Kind? Caring? “Hospitable.” He finished with, covering up his hesitation with a cough.

Merlin smirked. “Was that a compliment?” he asked.

Arthur pulled a face. “Of course not,” he replied brusquely.

Merlin’s expression was far too knowing for Arthur, so he quickly left room, heading to the bathroom to freshen up before the rest of the day.

He was surprised, when he looked in the mirror and saw his face, still mottled and stained with bruises. Tentatively he lifted a hand, running his fingers over the black and blue, expecting pain, but there was none.

Even when he pressed his hand against his injured shoulder, there was only the faintest twinge of pain.

He realised that, since he’d taken the tonic, Merlin had given him the previous day, he hadn’t even thought about his injuries. All through the previous evening’s work and strain and he hadn’t been in pain once.

It was just like… magic.

He left the bathroom and stood in the door to the kitchen, watching Merlin for a moment as he continued washing up, methodically wiping clean the plates and rinsing them under cold water.

“What was in that tonic you gave me?” Arthur asked eventually. “Where did you get it?”

At the sound of Arthur’s voice, Merlin froze, and when he turned, he had an almost guilty expression on his face.

“Why d’you ask?” he asked, licking his lips.

“It’s working very well,” Arthur responded. “Better than anything I’ve used before.”

“That’s good,” Merlin said, giving Arthur a smile and turning back to the dishes.

“You didn’t answer the question,” Arthur said.

Merlin sighed, and paused in what he was doing, but he didn’t turn to face Arthur.

“I’m not going to tell you,” he said slowly.

“I’m asking you-” Arthur replied, growing a little angry at Merlin’s aloofness.

“I’m not going to tell you what you already know,” Merlin said, and there was the smallest amount of frustration in his tone. “And I don’t want to give you a reason to turn down a perfect remedy just because you’re prejudiced against it. You’d do yourself more harm than good simply because you aren’t able to accept that magic can be a force for good.”

He said all this in an even tone, his shoulders in a straight line and his gaze focused somewhere far beyond the window.

Arthur wished he had shouted. It would be easier to respond to than this refined, weary frustration.

Arthur closed his mouth, holding back whatever response he had been about to give. He wondered where Merlin had bought the tonic, how a non-magical would even be able to purchase such a thing in a magical society.

There was so much about this world he didn’t know, and until he did, perhaps it was better simply to listen to Merlin.

“Thank you,” he said, so quiet he wasn’t sure Merlin even heard him.

But there was an ease in the line of Merlin’s shoulders when he went back to the washing, and Arthur found himself revelling in a completely new experience. For the first time, he found himself feeling happy because of someone else’s happiness. He was happy because Merlin was.

It was a warm, soft feeling, of genuine contentment. It washed away the aches and worries of the previous day, leaving Arthur hanging in a moment of pure bliss.

He went to take a shower, mood brightened further as he spent a long time under the hot water, letting it run through his hair and over his body.

He felt … _clean_. A deep sense of belonging and gentle fondness welling up inside him, not because he himself was particularly happy or fortunate – far from it, his whole world had been turned upside down in a matter of days – but rather, for a beautiful, glowing moment he could truly appreciate the fact he had made someone else happy. Not for self-gain, not seeking forgiveness, but simply because it was the right thing to do.

He caught himself standing in front of the mirror, grinning like a lunatic and feeling happier than he had in years.

That morning in Merlin’s flat, the Fortress seemed a lifetime away.

And just like that, the moment tumbled from its weightless bliss, and smashed against reality.

The Fortress. The task he had set out to complete. His father. Cenred and Valiant. The people who lived there, who needed rescuing. Sigan.

The realisation of his impossible situation stretched out before him.

To go back to the Fortress now would mean either facing his father and accepting his failure, or facing the possibility of death. He didn’t know how far Cenred and the others would go, and they had already been prepared to kill him once.

If going back wasn’t an option, then that left either leaving Camelot and travelling – a prospect which made him feel cold at the sheer loneliness of it – or staying.

Staying.

It had only been a couple of days, but somehow Arthur could see a whole new life rolling itself out before him. He had a job, a place to stay, at least for a little while, the prospect of friendships …

It seemed a little too perfect.

A knock on the door startled him and twisting a towel round his hips, he went to answer it.

Merlin was there, an odd expression on his face, and it seemed like several moments went by before Arthur had to prompt him.

“Did you need to use the bathroom?” he asked.

Merlin blinked and seemed to arrive in the present again.

“Oh. Sorry. No. I was just … Well I was planning on seeing some friends today, it’s my day off. I was wondering if you’d like to come with me?” Merlin’s words came out in a rush and jumble, accompanied by a hopeful smile at the end.

“Er … Yeah. Sure,” Arthur smiled back, then turned to gesture at his pile of clothes. “I’ll just get dressed …” he trailed off, grimacing a little at the state of his clothes. They were dirty, streaked with mud, and, in places, blood. Patches which he had tirelessly sewn on over the years had frayed and there were new tears and even burn marks from the previous night.

“I’ll get you some new clothes,” Merlin said quickly. “Don’t worry about those.”

Arthur gave a thin smile. “Thanks. And once … once I’m earning, I can get my own.”

The prospect seemed foreign to him. They were used to having so little in the Fortress. New items were few and far between, so whatever you owned was patched and repaired. Uther’s meticulous standards of presentation meant every rip, hole and tear was mended, and woe to anyone who appeared before his father wearing tattered clothing.

Sometimes, Uther really didn’t seem to understand that his people were surviving on nothing.

Appearances, to Uther, were everything.

Arthur shook himself from his thoughts to find Merlin in front of him once again, bearing a pile of clothes.

Arthur took them gratefully and manoeuvred the door shut before setting them down and carefully going through the pile.

There was a pair of lightweight, but sturdy, cotton trousers, a white woollen vest, a dark green, long-sleeved top, and a soft wool, navy V-neck jumper. Merlin had added socks and underwear to the pile, and Arthur firmly resolved that that would be the first thing he bought when he had some money.

Once he’d dressed, he turned to face the mirror and blinked in surprise. He hardly recognised himself.

His hair, still wet from the shower, was a ruffled mess, but the bruises on his face weren’t as dark as they had been and the scratches and scrapes were healing. His clothes weren’t new, but they were well cared for, and better quality than anything Arthur had worn in a long time.

Picking up his old clothes, he left the bathroom, dumped the clothes in the corridor and stopped at the entrance to the living room.

Merlin was sat forward in one of the armchairs, pouring over a thick brown book, a small crease of a frown on his forehead. Slowly, he turned the page and Arthur caught sight of a block of script in a language he had never even seen before.

He took a step forward for a closer look, but Merlin closed it turning his head and giving Arthur a smile.

“You look good,” he said.

Rather caught in the act of spying on what Merlin was doing, Arthur was momentarily unsure of what Merlin was saying. Merlin gestured to the clothes.

“It’s good that they fit you,” he added.

“Oh! The clothes. Yes. Of course.” Arthur brushed a hand down his front self-consciously. “Thanks.”

“Not a problem.”

Merlin got up from his seat and grabbed his coat from over the back of a chair.

“You ready to head out then?” he asked, fastening the buttons with quick, precise movements of his fingers.

“Er,” Arthur cast around for his boots, eventually finding them at the end of the sofa where he had kicked them off the previous night.

Stuffing his feet into mud stained and scraped boots felt rather a shame next to his new, clean clothes, but he didn’t have anything else, and his boots were at least comfortable.

Joining Merlin at the door he was aware of the cold draught, but before he’d even thought of saying anything, Merlin was handing him a coat.

It was a pale brown, unlike Merlin’s dark one, and apart from being a little tight across the shoulders, it fit Arthur well.  He shrugged his arms into it, and felt a sudden surge of comfort when he realised it smelled like Merlin.

His cheeks flushed at the thought, and he quickly turned to avoid Merlin seeing.

He hadn’t even realised Merlin _had_ a smell, let alone that he had become so attuned to it. It gave him a warm, fuzzy feeling inside which he would forever deny.

“Ready?” Merlin prompted.

“Yeah,” Arthur said, bringing his head up and smiling. “When you are.”

Merlin quirked an eyebrow. “You’re looking a little red, something wrong?”

“It’s … It’s very warm in here. Come on,” Arthur said abruptly. “No point us standing around all day, _Mer_ lin.”

Face smarting with embarrassment, he hurried out the door.

**ooOOOoo**

“So, you really have friends?” Arthur asked, enjoying the immediate reaction he got from Merlin.

“I’ll have you know I have plenty of friends,” Merlin said.

Arthur reached out and ruffled Merlin’s hair.

“Only teasing,” he replied, and Merlin grumpy expression eased.

They had walked a few blocks when Merlin directed him through an alley and then up a short flight of stairs.

They reached a bright green door, a knocker in the shape of a rose hanging against its surface. Merlin reached up and knocked loudly and a moment later the door opened.

A woman with dark curly hair stood there, the sleeves of her shirt rolled up and a smear of dirt across her cheek.

“Merlin!” She pulled Merlin into a hug which he reciprocated warmly. Arthur felt a small pang of jealousy.

“Gwen,” Merlin said when they broke apart. “You remember Arthur from the pub the other night.”

Gwen turned to Arthur, the recognition showing on her face, mingled with both surprise and confusion.

“Arthur?” she reached out a hand for him to shake, and he took it, trying to put as much warmth into the gesture as he could. “Lovely to meet you properly.” She appeared to get over her initial surprise quickly. “I’m Gwen, my husband Lance is inside, and Merlin … well of course you know Merlin, what am I saying?” She bit her lip, looking embarrassed, and then suddenly jumped out the way of the door. “Anyway, come in, come in! I’ve just put the kettle on for tea.”

Arthur shot Merlin a somewhat confused glance, but Merlin only smiled and led the way into the house.

Walking into Gwen and Lance’s house was somewhat like walking into a forest. The door opened onto a small porch, and through an archway the room opened out and up. Sunlight danced throughout the room, reflected around by strategically placed mirrors and almost every surface was covered in plants.

A clump of something green and wet hit Arthur in the face as he stepped through the archway after Merlin, and his noise of indignation covered his gasp of surprise.

A wealth of smells and scents filled the room, layered on top of a deep, warm earthy smell. Looking up through a canopy of trees and creepers, Arthur could see a glass domed roof.

“Do you like it?” Merlin asked, his voice hushed in what Arthur could only mark as reverence for this wonderful place.

“Like it?” Arthur spluttered. “It’s incredible.”

Gwen appeared again from behind a large shrub covered in white flowers, bearing a tray with a teapot and cups all stacked on top of one another.

“Here’s the tea,” she said brightly, “but we should probably head into the workroom. It’s about to start raining.” She glanced upwards, and looking up too, Arthur could see a criss-cross of pipes among the canopy.

“Excellent,” Merlin said. “Where’s Lance?”

“He’s through there, just watering the herbs.”

Merlin disappeared through the foliage and Arthur was left to follow Gwen on a circuitous route through the room.

The floor was almost all earth, with the plants growing up around the paving stone steps that formed paths across the room. Some of the plants were potted and some up higher in deep, wooden troughs.

The variety and wealth of colours and species left Arthur stunned. The place felt so alive and full of energy, it was so bright and green that, for a moment, Arthur felt like he’d stumbled into a dream.

It was a little bit like paradise.

On the far side of the room, another archway opened into a short hallway. In one direction, Arthur could see doors opening into a tiny kitchen and a cluttered bedroom, on the other side, the door to the lounge stood open.

In the doorway, Merlin was talking quietly with another man that he recognised from the bar the other night. At the sound of Arthur and Gwen’s footsteps, both men turned.

“Lance,” Merlin said, “this is Arthur. Arthur, do you remember Lance?”

“Good to meet you,” Arthur said, offering a hand. Despite the slightly suspicious look in Lance’s eye and the way Gwen was looking at him doubtfully, Arthur was determined to try and be friendly. If only for Merlin’s sake.

Lance took Arthur’s hand, giving it a firm shake.

“You’re a friend of Merlin’s?” he asked.

Arthur glanced to Merlin. “You could say that,” he replied, laughing a little to hide his awkwardness. To be honest. he had no idea how to describe what Merlin was to him. To some extent they were still perfect strangers, but at the same time, Arthur felt like he’d known Merlin all his life.

“Arthur’s new in town,” Merlin said. “I offered him a place to stay.”

At the warmth in Merlin’s smile, Lance seemed to relax a bit.

“Well, in that case, I feel for you,” he said, giving Arthur a grin. “No one should have to deal with the torment of living with Merlin.”

Merlin gave a gasp of mock outrage and hit Lance on the arm.

“You’re one to talk. Every time I come here I get hit with a plant or a tree falls on me, or there was that time with Gwen and the weed-killer-”

“Tea,” Gwen said hurriedly, shoving past the men and into the room.

Lance was laughing. “We can’t help the plants, Merlin. It’s just your natural charm.”

Strangely, Merlin tensed up, and Arthur didn’t miss the minute shake of a head he gave Lance. Gwen, who had set her tea tray down on a table covered in trowels and gardening gloves, didn’t seem to miss it either.

“Hope you don’t mind green tea, Arthur,” she said loudly, thrusting a chipped, blue cup in his direction. “And just find a seat anywhere, please ignore the mess.”

Arthur let the moment pass. Everyone had their secrets, it wasn’t his place to know Merlin’s when Merlin didn’t know his own.

The room was definitely cluttered. A couch on one wall was home to numerous potted plants and a tray of cactuses. In the middle of the room, various herbs were planted in a deep trough filled with soil, not unlike the ones out in the other room. A desk was shoved in one corner, covered in paper, and around the rest of the room, more potted plants were scattered about, on top of stools and chairs, bookcases and a table.

Arthur managed to shift a strange plant with bright red leaves off a stool without spilling his tea and sat down.

Merlin and Lance had moved the potted plants off the sofa and they both sat there, Gwen choosing to perch on the desk.

A slightly strained silence followed.

Gwen looked at Lance, Lance looked at Merlin, Merlin looked somewhat nervously at Arthur.

“So … What are all the plants for?” Arthur asked.

“Oh, it’s our job,” Gwen said brightly. “We grow the plants and sell them to people, for potions and apothecaries and things.”

“I wouldn’t have thought the climate was good enough,” Arthur said, glancing through the window at the grey day beyond. A frown crossed his face and he glanced back towards the archway to the plant room. Sunlight was somehow streaming through the arch.

“We have sun lamps,” Lance replied. “Magic,” he added at Arthur’s look of confusion.

“But you’re not magicals,” Arthur said slowly.

“M-” Gwen coughed. “A … magical gave them to us.”

“But …” Arthur couldn’t help but look to Merlin, remembering everything Merlin had said to him over the past few days. “Why? Why would a magical do that?”

“Well …” Gwen looked to Lance and then gave a small shrug. “They’re our friend.”

“Friend?” Arthur’s cup hit the saucer. “You’re friends with a magical?”

“I don’t know what your experience with magicals is, Arthur,” Lance responded, and there was a level of defensiveness in his tone. “But there are good ones out there.”

“You’ve just been unlucky,” Merlin said.

Whilst Arthur fought to hide his scepticism, at the same time he was faced with a reality that a magical had done a good deed for Gwen and Lance. But could a few good deeds cancel out the bad?

“It’s so dangerous for non-magicals here though,” Arthur pointed out. “Wouldn’t other places be safer? Like … like the Fortress or something?”

Gwen and Lance both looked to each other, similar expressions crossing their faces. For a moment, Arthur couldn’t place what emotion it was, until he realised it was the very thing he was lacking.

Love.

“We have a home here,” Gwen said. “Friends, a livelihood. We can’t run away from everything we know.” She laughed a little at Arthur’s pained expression. “I know, it sounds mad. But honestly, being here, with Lance …” Once again they shared a look, and something in Arthur’s heart tugged painfully. “That’s all I need.”

Arthur nodded, words not seeming appropriate.

“And I couldn’t imagine living underground,” Lance said. “Our little corner of sunshine here is everything to us.”

Arthur pressed his lips tight together, realising in that instant, that despite the danger and oppression Gwen and Lance must face, to them there was more to life than being afraid. They had a home, they had each other, and Arthur couldn’t think of anything worse than for them to have to lose that.

His gaze drifted to Merlin who gave him a small, knowing smile. In response, Arthur nodded. He understood.

The afternoon drifted away in meaningless conversation, but, once again, Arthur felt the same buoying feeling that he had before. It was happiness, pure and simple.

He and Merlin left just as evening was closing in, taking a moment to pause in the plant room, breathing in the smell of wet earth. Arthur didn’t think he could ever imagine a more beautiful place.

**ooOOOoo**

The flat, when they arrived back, was gloomy and bleak in comparison. Merlin chuckled a little and began lighting candles.

“I know what you’re thinking,” he said. “I think the same thing every time I get back from Lance and Gwen’s.”

“They’ve got a wonderful house,” Arthur replied.

“Yeah, I’m not so lucky,” Merlin replied. He had stopped in the hallway, staring pointedly at something on the floor.

Arthur moved to see what it was and felt a little embarrassed to find his pile of dirty clothes still sat there from earlier.

“Are you going to do something about those?” Merlin asked, a grin curling his lips.

“You said you’d deal with them,” Arthur pointed out.

Merlin laughed, slightly disbelievingly, picked up Arthur’s clothes and chucked them at him.

“Do I look like your servant?” he scoffed. “Don’t answer that,” he added quickly at Arthur’s smug grin. “Washing machine is that way.” He gestured to the kitchen.

“You’d be a terrible servant, _Mer_ lin,” Arthur called over his shoulder as he stood in front of the washing machine. The painfully embarrassing realisation came to him that he had no idea how to use it.

“Of course, _Sire_ ,” Merlin threw back from the bedroom.

Deciding putting his clothes in the machine would be a good place to start, Arthur bundled his clothes inside, stopping short when something fell out of the pocket of his jacket.

It was the book Geoffrey had given him the previous day. Arthur had completely forgotten it after the fight at the market.

Turning it over in his hands, he stabbed random buttons on the washing machine, his mind focused on the book rather than what he was doing.

A bottle marked ‘washing liquid’ caught his eye on the windowsill, and as he opened the book to the first page, he squirted a generous amount into the machine on top of the clothes.

Prodding the ‘start’ button, he then crossed into the living room, eyes going wide as he read the first few lines of the introduction.

‘Here are the full accounts of the Pendragon rule, from the time of the Great Purge, until the death of Arthur Pendragon and the fall of the Albion.’

Arthur had to read the first line several times over before he was sure he wasn’t hallucinating. He dropped down onto the couch, sparing a glance towards Merlin’s bedroom, but the other man hadn’t appeared.

‘The Great Purge began in the time of Uther Pendragon, following the death of his wife, Ygraine, in childbirth. Since the Prince’s birth had been aided by magic, Uther accused the High Priestess Nimueh of murder, banished her from the royal court, and declared a war on magic and all those who practiced it.’

Arthur felt a little sick.

He carried on reading, details jumping out at him: ‘All who practised magic, man, woman, and child, were sentenced to death.’ … ‘The children of convicted adults, were also burned on the pyre.’ … ‘The Dragonlord Balinor was pursued from the court, the dragon Kilgharrah bound in chains below the earth.’

Unable to carry on, Arthur snapped the book shut, graphic drawings of pyres still burning before his eyes.

It had to be a joke. A lie. It was some form of propaganda created by magicals.

Arthur ran a hand through his hair, tossing the book to one side. He didn’t want to look at it, didn’t want to think about it. It wasn’t true, it couldn’t be true, because even if it were, his father would never …

His mother’s name had been Ygraine.

His pressed the back of his hand to his mouth, sharp and painful memories coming forth. Asking his father about his mother as a child. Being told to keep silent. Don’t ask questions. _Never_ say her name.

Ygraine had died in childbirth, and Gaius had told him he looked like her. But nothing more. There was a hole in his heart that he’d never been able to fill and to see such dark and twisted things written down about what was supposed to be another Arthur’s life … For him to be expected to believe it.

He threw the book across the room in blind anger.

Outside there was a loud bang and a shout of pain.

“Not so high and mighty now, are we?” Arthur heard someone yell, and immediately he was on his feet.

He knew that voice.

He was out the door in a flash, racing down the steps two at a time.

As he neared the ground floor, voices reached him and the sounds of fighting. Someone cried out again. He leapt the last few steps in one go and raced out around the corner.

In the shadow of the building, in the gathering dusk, a figure loomed over another.

“Cenred!” Arthur called, and the standing figure stepped into the light.

Cenred looked gaunt, his hair matted and hanging limply around his face. Harsh shadows circled his eyes and his cheeks were hollow.

It had only been days since Arthur last saw him, but clearly the aboveground world was not suiting Cenred.

“Still alive then,” Cenred sniffed, his breath coming in sharp pants and his chest heaving. Whatever sign of surprise he had shown at seeing Arthur was quickly covered. 

“No thanks to you,” Arthur replied evenly. He caught himself realising he had no idea what he planned to do. He had run from the flat desperate to escape the dark messages of the book, and now that he saw Cenred, he found himself a little wrong-footed.

“Your dear old dad didn’t seem to mind too much,” Cenred sneered in response.

The figure at Cenred’s feet stirred, groaning slightly. Cenred kicked them.

“Who’s that?” Arthur asked.

“Magical,” Cenred grunted.

Arthur’s forehead creased in a frown. How on earth had Cenred overpowered a magical?

“How’d you-”

“I’m better than you,” Cenred snarled. “Now get out of my way.”

Cenred made to move past him, but Arthur resolutely blocked his path.

“Run back to wherever you’re hiding, Pendragon. Looks like someone’s _looking after_ you.” The end of his sentence was heavy with euphemism, and it was that that made Arthur lash out.

He lunged for Cenred with a punch, catching him across the jaw. There was a satisfying crack.

After the book, he needed an outlet for his anger. Cenred provided the perfect opportunity.

* * *

Merlin sat back on his bed. He could hear Arthur fiddling with the washing machine in the kitchen, but aside from that, the flat was quiet.

It had been a stressful day, watching Arthur bounce between accepting and prejudiced towards magic. Hoping against hope that Arthur would come round, only for another thing to get in the way.

He sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose.

What did he think he was doing? He’d offered Arthur a place to stay and now he was stuck, having to live with a man who would no doubt hate him if he ever found out.

He just didn’t understand why he felt so drawn to Arthur, why he felt the need to offer him a place to stay, why he _cared_ so much about what Arthur thought about magic …

In general, Merlin just let the world slide on past him, not really caring what other people thought, or whether people hated magicals or non-magicals. Apart from his friends, and their farfetched dreams and sketchy plans about the future, Merlin had almost given up on the world.

The world had long since given up on him.

So why did Arthur - bright, brave Arthur who charged headlong into danger, but ached so clearly at any sign of pain in the world – make him want to _care_ again?

Caring hurt. It was easier not to care. And Merlin had faced _so much_ hurt. But Arthur had come into his life and effortlessly turned his world upside down.

Prejudice and fear had killed Freya, and Merlin felt duty bound – but it was more than duty _, so much more_ – to take away Arthur’s prejudice and fear; for his own sake, if nothing more.

He just felt like he knew Arthur. Deep down, he felt like they were meant to be together.

The door to the flat suddenly slammed and Merlin jerked his head up.

“Arthur?” he called. There was no response.

He left his room and walked down into the living room. Arthur wasn’t there.

He looked into the kitchen and stopped dead.

“You’ve got to be kidding me.”

Bubbles were streaming from the washing machine, still mid-cycle, and a puddle of water was steadily creeping across the floor.

“Arthur?!” He turned back to the living room, checked the bathroom and finally had to conclude that Arthur wasn’t in the flat.

Surely he wouldn’t have run because of the washing machine?

Merlin went to the door, the cold evening air catching him as he stepped out onto the steps.

For a moment, everything was still, and then a cry of pain rent the quiet air.

“Arthur.”

Merlin practically flew down the steps, his heart in his throat. Arthur couldn’t get hurt. Not again.

He stumbled the last few steps, flinging his hands out of catch himself on the railing, rather than go head over heels to the bottom of the stairs. When he had got his feet under him again, he dashed out into the street.

Two figures were fighting, grappling and wrestling with each other in the middle of the street. A third person was limping away, half crippled in pain.

The first thing that Merlin noticed was that the two men fighting weren’t using magic. The second thing, one of them was Arthur.

“Arthur!” He’d cried out before he could help himself, bright and visceral worry flaring up as Arthur narrowly dodged a punch.

At the sounds of Merlin’s voice, however, Arthur turned, surprise and panic crossing his face in seeing Merlin there.

Arthur’s opponent grabbed the opportunity whilst Arthur was distracted and lunged forward, a swift punch in the guts followed by a kick to the legs, knocking Arthur to the ground.

“Don’t hurt him!” Merlin yelled, rushing forward. All thought of magic left him as a deep urge to protect Arthur obliterated every other idea. He charged headlong into the attacker, his shoulder catching the man’s midriff and, for a moment, thought he would knock him down, but next thing he knew hewas stumbling backwards from a well-aimed punch.

His jaw stung from the impact, and, for a beat, he could see nothing but stars.

“I told you to go home, Pendragon,” the man sneered. “Some of us have a job to do.”

“You won’t find Sigan, Cenred,” Arthur replied roughly, getting onto his knees with effort. “He’s dead.”

It took a little time for things to click into place in Merlin’s mind, but then a frown crossed his forehead.

_Arthur knew this man?_

Cenred stepped back, obviously thrown by this piece of information.

“If it’s any consolation,” Arthur added. “He was never going to help us.”

_Us?_

A shadow crossed Cenred’s face.

“Doesn’t matter to me,” he sniffed, clearly trying to appear unconcerned.

“Go back home, Cen,” Arthur scoffed. “Back to the Fortress.”

_The Fortress?_

Merlin lost track of the information he was receiving, but one thing was clear. This was what Arthur had been hiding.

“You don’t get to tell me what to do!” Cenred spat, raising his arm for another strike.

Something round and silver in Cenred’s palm, flashed as it caught the light, and before he knew what he was doing, Merlin dove in front of Arthur.

Searing white pain exploded from his shoulder where Cenred’s blow struck. Whatever Cenred had in his hand attached itself to the fabric of Merlin’s top and spikes dug into his skin, but that wasn’t the source of the pain.

His magic was on _fire_.

Merlin screamed, collapsing onto the ground as waves of pain shook him to the core.

Vaguely, he was aware of Cenred, whose eyes went wide in something that looked like victory. But then he was running, racing away from Arthur who looked … Well, Merlin couldn’t describe the emotions on Arthur’s face.

His face was ashen as he knelt down next to Merlin.

“Merlin! Merlin? Can you hear me?”

With much difficulty, Merlin managed to take Arthur’s hand and give it the smallest of squeezes, but then another bolt of pain struck him and his vision whited out.

“Merlin!”

Arthur’s arms encircled him, one going behind his back and the other going under his knees. A moment later, he was hoisted into the air, Arthur giving a small grunt.

“Stay with me, Merlin,” Arthur muttered quietly.

It was slow going, and every step Arthur took up the seemingly never-ending flight of stairs sent another jolt of pain through Merlin. His magic burned and writhed, whatever Cenred had hit him with simultaneously binded his magic and made it so _painful_ , like his blood had been turned to boiling oil in his veins.

Arthur was from the Fortress.

Fine beads of perspiration coated Arthur’s brow from the exertion, but his eyes were still bright with determination.

“Don’t go fainting on me, _Mer_ lin,” Arthur huffed, and although Merlin wanted to point out he _wasn’t_ fainting and was in fact perfectly aware of every single one of Arthur’s eyelashes, and the way the streetlamps lit Arthur’s skin to make him look like some Greek god, and that the stars were very bright … he just couldn’t quite get the words out.

The door to Merlin’s flat suddenly loomed before them, the candles still flickering within from where Merlin had lit them earlier.

Merlin saw light dancing up the wall … piles of books … the wet hairs of the carpet …

“Merlin. Merlin! Tell me what I need to do. Do you have medicines?”

Arthur’s face appeared above Merlin’s, his expression frantic.

“Merlin?!”

Another jolt hit, Merlin’s cry getting trapped in his throat.

The pain was almost unbearable.

Something changed in Arthur’s expression and he was suddenly gone from Merlin’s view.

A moment later he was back, a small dark bottle clutched in his hand. The pain remedy.

“Please say this works,” Arthur was muttering. “ _Please_.”

The liquid slipped past Merlin’s lips, and trickled down his throat.

“Please.”

Gradually, Arthur’s face came back into sharper focus above him, and the pain receded, bit by bit, until it was only in the area of his shoulder where the spikes were digging in.

After a long time of staring blankly at the ceiling, Merlin summoned enough energy to reach up and tear the thing out.

He whined in pain, but eventually he could breathe normally again and his magic had settled.

“Are you alright?” Arthur said insistently. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. Cenred is …” Arthur bit his lip, tearing at the skin there. “I’m from the Fortress, Merlin. I came to find a magical, to bring them to our side. And I couldn’t tell you because … because this world’s so dangerous, and I didn’t want you to get hurt. But we need help, in the Fortress. If we’re ever going to win the war … if we’re ever going to stop the magicals we need help. And I’m sorry …” A single tear rolled down Arthur’s cheek, and he looked so wretched and broken.

For a moment, the words were on the tip of Merlin’s tongue. _I’m a magical. I’m a sorcerer_.

But there was a cold weight in his stomach.

_If we’re ever going to stop the magicals …_

The weapon Merlin had been hit with showed in exactly what way magicals would be stopped.

He couldn’t say it.

There were tears in his own eyes as he gently reached up and patted Arthur on the arm.

“S’ok.” Was all he was able to say.

Arthur bowed his head, his chest rising and falling steadily, and the room faded to silence.

After a while, Merlin was able to force himself up onto his elbows, the flickering flames of the candles making him squint in confusion.

The carpet was wet.

“You broke the washing machine.”

Arthur’s head jerked up, his face colouring instantly in mortification.

“I … oh.”

“You broke the washing machine.” For some bizarre reason, that fact suddenly became the funniest thing to Merlin, and a quiet chuckle broke from his throat. A laugh followed.

A beat later and Arthur was laughing too.

“How did you even …?”

His chest heaving with laughter, Merlin looked to Arthur, but something was tugging at his heart, however, and he realised he couldn’t possibly hide his magic from Arthur for much longer.

Not this man who looked at Merlin with such care and concern. Not this man whom Merlin had sacrificed himself to protect without a thought.

Merlin only wished he could freeze time and live forever in that heartbeat.

Because, if only for a moment, he thought he might just know what love was.


	5. Chapter 5

All things considered, Arthur decided it really could have been much worse. Of course, Merlin was half delirious with pain at the time, and the ensuing clearing up of the mess Arthur had made with the washing machine and dishwashing liquid meant they were both distracted for a period, but it could have been worse. Much, much worse.

He’d already let it slip in front of Cenred, but at the same time, he’d come to understand that he couldn’t lie to Merlin, couldn’t avoid Merlin’s questions anymore.

Merlin had dived in front of Arthur without hesitation. Arthur owed it to the man to at least be truthful.

After throwing newspapers down all over the carpet and mopping up the water that had flooded through the kitchen, they both sat down to a late dinner.

Laughter still crinkled the corners of Merlin’s eyes, but there was a sort of sadness underlying it, and Arthur didn’t want to ask.

“So, you came to look for a magical?” Merlin asked, when it was clear the topic couldn’t be avoided anymore.

“Well …” Arthur raked a hand through his hair, deciding the best way to tell the story. “Someone was meant to come from the Fortress. It wasn’t meant to be me. I’d … I’d got caught up in an attack by some magicals and our leader, my father, said I wasn’t suitable for the task.”

He could see Merlin taking note of all the little pieces of information he offered up. There was a hint of a frown on his forehead, but he didn’t ask questions, just waited patiently for Arthur to carry on.

“But Cenred, the man from tonight, he and a few others attacked me. Apparently something’s wrong in the Fortress, and they thought I knew about it. They called it the Excalibur project. Of course, when they realised I knew nothing they decided to get rid of me, dumped me out in the forest and left me to die.”

Merlin’s lips were a thin line.

“How did you escape?” he asked.

“I came round a little later, feeling fine. Injured of course, but strong enough to get out of the forest. For a moment I thought I saw …” Arthur drifted off, shaking his head. The blue orb would have been nothing but an illusion. No need to make himself look foolish in front of Merlin. “And then I found you.” He finished lamely.

“Lucky you,” Merlin replied dryly, his lips twitching in a smile.

“I know,” Arthur said. “I only seem to run into more trouble around you, _Mer_ lin.”

“That’s hardly fair,” Merlin snorted. “You attract more than your fair share of danger. And anyway, you’d get bored if everything was nice and safe.”

Arthur tilted his head in acknowledgement of that fact. It was true. He lived for the adrenaline rush. He’d gone out after Cenred that evening _looking_ for a fight.

His fingers twitched as he remembered the book, but he put it to the back of his mind.

“Are you angry with me?” he asked at length.

“Why would I be?” Merlin responded.

“For not telling you.” Arthur pulled a face. “I should have said as soon as I met you. I just thought it was too dangerous at the time.”

“No. I’m not angry with you,” Merlin replied, but he didn’t elaborate.

They cleared away the dinner things, and headed through to the living room, Merlin picking up a book and settling back on the couch.

Arthur could tell he wasn’t really concentrating, though.

Sighing to himself, Arthur took the chair, the events of the evening running through his head in flashes.

He could have lost Merlin.

He didn’t even quite know why he’d thought to get the pain remedy that Merlin had given him the other day. Perhaps it was the sudden, terrifying realisation that there was nothing he could do, and magic had been the only way out.

He felt like such a hypocrite, because in any other circumstance he would be quick to criticise and doubt any use of magic. But when he needed it, he’d gladly taken the option.

Casting his mind about for other things, a thought came to him that had been dancing at the edge of his mind for some time.

“Why do people go to the Fortress?”

Merlin looked up from his book.

“Why would you ask that?” he replied, his tone full of confusion.

“It’s just …” Arthur took a deep breath, realising his own doubts were about to pour forth. “Well, everyone I’ve met here is content with their life. They know it’s dangerous, but they’re willing to risk it. And the Fortress is far from perfect, most people are living in downright poverty. Why would they choose that?”

Merlin was silent for a while, idly flipping his book shut and staring at its cover.

“What do they tell you,” he asked eventually, “in the Fortress, about the world up here?”

Arthur had to think for a moment, then he shrugged.

“That magicals are dangerous, oppressing the non-magicals, and killing at will. That non-magicals are having to flee for their lives.” He paused and stared at the floor for a while. “But … I don’t know. Your friends seem happy.”

Merlin grimaced slightly. “I won’t say it’s all a lie. I mean, you saw Sigan, and the other sorcerer who attacked you. But, it is an exaggeration. Not all magicals are terrible, but most of my friends have had help and it’s worse for some people in other parts of the city …”

Putting the book to one side Merlin turned to face Arthur properly, his expression serious. “What I’m trying to say is, some people are willing to fight for their livelihoods, others are too scared for what it might cost. Not everyone has it in them to be a hero.”

Arthur nodded slowly, seeing where Merlin was coming from.

“Everything I’ve seen over the past few days,” he said, “makes me realise how little we know in the Fortress. Like the magical scanners, my father had always said they’re operational, that non-magicals can barely go anywhere, but up here they’re all broken.”

He paused and then added. “And I think, if things had been different, I’d have chosen to stay here, to fight. There’s good in this world, you just have to work hard to bring it to the light.”

Merlin gave a small smile and nodded. His expression clouded over, however.

“What you said about the scanners … they’ve been broken for years. In fact, it was raiding parties from the Fortress who were attributed to their damage.”

“From the Fortress?” The sick feeling that Arthur was getting used to now started writhing again in his stomach. “My father knew?”

Merlin looked a little uncertain, as if he knew Arthur wouldn’t like what he had to say.

“You said Cenred questioned you about Project Excalibur, and after seeing the weapon Cenred had tonight …” he hesitated, then rushed on. “Do you think your father could have been hiding things from you?”

Arthur went tight lipped, not wanting to say the words out loud that would somehow confirm his doubts. If he kept quiet, he could live in disbelief … but to say the words …

“Please don’t say that about my father,” he said firmly.

Merlin appeared to want to say more, but Arthur silenced him with a look.

It was ridiculous really, because after everything he had seen, after reading Geoffrey’s book, Arthur had no excuse but to see that his father was not a good man, that his father was hiding something.

Arthur had known the man his whole life, it wasn’t a difficult conclusion to make.

But he didn’t want to make it. He wanted to hang onto the fragile thread of illusion that everything was alright, that magicals were bad, the Fortress was good, and Arthur was fighting on the _right_ side.

He was such a hypocrite, saying he would stay above-ground and fight, when really he was far too much a coward to face the truth that was staring him in the face.

“Do you mind sleeping on the couch again?” Merlin asked, changing the topic after several long minutes of silence. “I can if you want-”

“No,” Arthur said quickly. “It’s fine.”

Merlin nodded, almost to himself, and got up, heading for the bathroom. “Goodnight, Arthur.”

“Night, Merlin.”

* * *

Merlin woke early, a bump from the other room stirring him from sleep.

His first thought was of Arthur and he quickly slipped from bed, but out in the hallway, he stopped.

Arthur was still asleep, sprawled on his front across the couch, the blankets tangled round his middle and one hand hanging over the edge, his fingers just brushing the floor. A candle lay on the floor, clearly knocked from the pile of books at the end of the couch by one of Arthur’s feet.

Shaking his head and smiling fondly at his own worry over nothing, Merlin padded softly back to his bedroom.

It was just before dawn, a faint grey light just making its way through the curtains and after a long while of staring at the ceiling, Merlin realised he wouldn’t be getting back to sleep.

Getting up again, he went to the bathroom, then back to the bedroom to get dressed. Each time he crossed the corridor, he couldn’t help but glance towards Arthur’s sleeping form on the couch.

His face was open and peaceful in sleep, but Merlin could see the obvious signs and scars that a life underground had dealt Arthur. He wondered how he could have missed it, now, looking back. Perhaps he hadn’t wanted to see.

Arthur was from the Fortress. The one place that openly and blatantly defied the magical regime. The place that hated magicals and everything about them.

There was a lump in his throat as he quietly crossed into the kitchen and began to make breakfast. Filling the kettle. Dropping bread into the toaster.

There was still a definite wet sheen to the floor, and the whole room smelt strongly of lemon dishwashing liquid. Repressing a smile with difficulty, Merlin loaded up two plates with a stack of toast, butter and jam, and stepped back into the living room.

“Rise and shine!” he said, loudly and cheerfully, enjoying the way he startled Arthur into almost falling off the couch.

“What time is it?” Arthur said, arms waving in what was probably some long ingrained response to potential attack.

“Eight thirty,” Merlin replied, dropping one of the plates into Arthur’s lap. “Thought I should wake you up, you’ve got work to go to.”

“Oh … yeah.” Arthur stared at the plate in front of him, looking almost confused at why it was there. “I’m still doing that, am I? I mean … you don’t want me to leave?”

Merlin paused, jam-laden toast halfway to his mouth.

“No. I don’t want you to leave.”

Arthur looked openly relieved and quickly began wolfing down his toast. Merlin watched him for a moment, feeling the unsteady ground between the two of them, wondering how he could make Arthur understand … he _wanted_ him to stay.

 “Of course, we’ll need to do something about the snoring,” he said eventually, going for light-hearted. He smiled to himself at the instant reaction it drew from Arthur.

“I _do not_ snore,” he said flatly.

“Like a pig,” Merlin responded, ducking his head to hide his laughter.

“Oh really, _Mer_ lin.”

“Honestly,” Merlin responded, “I had to find earplugs last night. Practically unbearable.”

Arthur narrowed his eyes and regarded Merlin shrewdly.

“Well, if it’s that bad, I don’t see why you let me stay,” he said.

Merlin couldn’t miss the tiny sliver of doubt in Arthur’s expression. He didn’t know what to say to make Arthur believe. That even in the space of a few days, Arthur had turned his life upside down and the world just wouldn’t seem the same again without Arthur in it.

“Come on,” he said, giving up the teasing and stuffing the last of his food into his mouth. “you don’t want to be late for work.”

His words came out muffled around the toast, and Arthur raised an eyebrow.

“And you were calling _me_ a pig?” he said lightly.

Merlin rolled his eyes. “Just hurry up, clotpole.”

**ooOOOoo**

Merlin left Arthur at the back entrance to Mithian and Elena’s café, Mithian already there and waving an apron at him, shooing Merlin away.

Merlin gave Arthur a reassuring smile and a thumbs up as he retreated, laughing a little at Arthur’s expression of panic.

Merlin knew Arthur had his head on his shoulders, though. He’d be fine.

* * *

“And that’s your day’s pay,” Mithian said, slapping an envelope into Arthur’s hand. “And as much as it pains me to admit it, you were actually quite good. You can come back tomorrow.” She gave him a smile.

“From Mith, that’s like saying ‘I love you’,” Elena said. She gave Arthur a cheery wave before turning back to the several steaming pots of curry arranged on the stove in front of her. Her hair, if possible, was even frizzier in the steam of the kitchen and there were splatters of curry all down her apron.

There was no denying the food was excellent, however.

“Are you sure you don’t want me to stay longer?” Arthur asked, even though his feet were sore and the idea of dishing out yet more curry made him slightly nauseous. He knew the restaurant would still be open for a few hours longer.

“No,” Mithian responded flatly, “because I want you in a decent shape tomorrow, and the day after, and the day after that.”

At Arthur’s slightly taken aback expression, she softened slightly.

“Let’s just say you got a talent for it. You work well with people.”

Arthur ducked his head at the compliment.

“Right, go. And you better not be late tomorrow!”

Raising a hand as he left, Arthur felt thoroughly pleased with himself. He had a real job, he’d been paid, he was going back again tomorrow.

It felt fulfilling, and so, so far from what he was used to. A life of perpetual fear, constantly having living up to standards he’d never attain and dreading that any day might be his last.

But this was different. This was better. His only worries being that he might drop a plate, or that they’d run out of cups during the busy period. It seemed so immaterial in the face of the war, and yet the war seemed so far away in that moment.

He paused at the end of the street. Fine rain dusted at his face and hair and the daylight was fading fast. Around him, the scene looked a little dismal.

The buildings were grey and bleak and the rain-washed cobbles still had grime and muck clinging to them. The heavy clouds hung low overhead and for a moment, Arthur was in danger of succumbing to the gloom and to defeat.

This Camelot was much the one his father painted when he described what the world was like aboveground.

Then behind him, he could hear the clattering of the curry kitchen and laughter from the customers. His mood brightened.

Camelot may not be perfect, but it was better than the Fortress. Fighting for change up here actually felt like it meant something, not the endless days of dark vengeance against an unknown enemy down in the Fortress.

An idea sprang to mind, and a smile lit his face.

He couldn’t wait to tell Merlin.

**ooOOOoo**

“So, you’re from the Fortress.” Will leaned forward, his entire demeanour threatening.

“Yes,” Arthur replied, taking a sip of his drink and calculating just what exactly was safe to say in the presence of Merlin’s friend.

They’d gone to the pub not long after dinner. Their conversation had still been a little strained and Arthur, hoping to coax them both out of it, had suggested they go out.

He hadn’t quite expected to meet the whole crowd of Merlin’s friends, nor that they would round on him in interrogation the moment Merlin left the table to get a drink.

“Leave it, Will,” Gwen said quietly from across the table. She gave Arthur a small smile. “Don’t worry about him.”

“Oh, I wasn’t,” Arthur replied, feigning nonchalance and leaning back in his seat, a cocky smile on his face.

Will reacted just as Arthur predicted.

“Why are you here?” he asked, his tone dropping lower and his eyes narrowing.

“Sight-seeing,” Arthur responded coolly.

“And you just happened to run into Merlin,” another voice interrupted. It was another man who’d been up at the bar when Merlin and Arthur arrived. He flicked his long hair out of his face as he took a seat and gave Arthur a tight smile.

“Sorry, I missed your name,” Arthur said, pretending not to have heard him.

“Gwaine,” he replied. “So, you want us to believe you just happened to bump into Merlin, and he just felt obliged to take you home.”

“Something like that,” Arthur replied.

“If you-”

“Gwaine.” It was Merlin, drinks in hand and a warning spark in his eye. “Drop it.”

The barman had arrived with Merlin, and he gently cuffed Gwaine over the back of the head.

“Actually,” Merlin said, once he had put the drinks down. “Can I have a word with you, Gwaine. You too, Will.”

More than one person looked surprised at this, but Merlin seemed determined, so after a beat, both Will and Gwaine got up and followed Merlin to the other side of the pub.

Arthur watched them go. They chose a secluded corner, out of ear-shot.

Turning back to the group, he let his guard drop a little.

“Bit awkward when you know they’re talking about you,” he said, and tried to laugh.

Gwen looked sympathetic. “Gwaine and Will, they’ve known Merlin for a long time. Will most of all of us.”

Arthur nodded, his heart warming a little to see how much Merlin’s friends cared for him.

“They don’t want to see him get hurt,” Lance added.

Arthur blinked. “Neither do I.”

That seemed an acceptable response for those at the table and there was a noticeably warmer shift in the mood.

Merlin was suddenly behind Arthur, his hand resting lightly against the back of Arthur’s chair.

“Does anyone else have a problem with Arthur being here?” he asked, and there was a definite threat in his words that the others noticed.

There was silence at the table and Arthur felt genuinely awkward, not wanting Merlin’s friends to feel hurt because of him.

He knocked Merlin lightly on the arm.

“Again _Mer_ lin, not a damsel,” he gestured to himself with a careless sweep, at the same time giving Merlin a small nod.

He was fine.

Merlin’s eyes narrowed, almost imperceptibly, but then he seemed to come to the conclusion that Arthur was, in fact, alright, and he relaxed.

“I’ll keep the armour polished just in case, _sire_.”

Arthur blinked at the honorary, and then grinned lazily.

“Come and sit down, Merlin. Time for drinks.”

“Here, here,” Lancelot said.

The spell was broken, and the tense silence dissolved into quiet chatter.

Arthur could feel the eyes of more than one person on him, Gwaine and Will in particular. But for the most part he ignored them. He was a stranger, of course they would be suspicious of him. All Arthur had to do was prove that he could be trusted.

He wasn’t quite sure why it mattered so much, but then, when Merlin slid into the seat next to his and his hand rested next to Arthur’s on the table, a bare centimetre away and yet at the same time the greatest distance in the universe … Arthur thought he knew.

Damn it all. He’d gone and fallen in love.

* * *

“You expect _us_ to trust him, when clearly you don’t even trust him yourself?”

Will’s words were still ringing loudly in Merlin’s ears when he went back to the table. He was grateful Arthur did his best to distract him from what could have been a very ugly turn of mood. The others didn’t deserve to have to deal with Merlin’s guilt.

Guilt that he hadn’t told Arthur yet. Guilt that he _couldn’t_ tell Arthur because he didn’t want to lose one of the best things to have happened in his life for _years_.

It was selfish.

But he was so afraid of being alone again.

The pub was empty again, except for their group. Percival was quiet, often looking towards the door in the hope of customers coming in.

“Has business been slow?” Merlin asked him at one point. Arthur had moved to sit next to Elyan, lost in a discussion about mundane weapons versus magical ones. Elyan forged mundane weapons for a living after Merlin had put him in touch with some interested magical collectors. Merlin had moved over to sit next to Percival, and when Gwaine got up to go to the bar – _again_ – he asked his question.

Percival scowled and nodded.

“People are afraid,” he replied. “Sigan’s attack scared a lot of people. And there’s rumours the Fortress is scaling up for an assault.”

Merlin couldn’t help but glance over at Arthur.

“Arthur didn’t know anything about it,” he said.

Percival shrugged. “They may just be rumours. But there’s unrest, and those at the top are worried their control is slipping.”

Merlin pressed his lips together, his mind returning to the conversation they had had the night before Arthur arrived.

_“The rumour is the non-magicals have discovered ways to block magic. Make it inaccessible.”_

He started, eyes going wide as he realised …

Whatever Cenred had used on him in that alleyway had blocked his magic, if only for a little while.

Somehow the Fortress had found a way to take down magicals.

He was caught in a beat of stunned silence, unable to say anything because then Arthur would know, and the others would panic.

The threat of war reared its ugly head, more real and terrifying than ever before.

“Why haven’t you told him?” Percival asked softly, breaking Merlin out of his reverie.

Merlin jumped, his gaze immediately going to Arthur, making sure he hadn’t heard.

“I can’t,” he replied, equally as quiet. “I just can’t.”

Percival looked like he was going to say more, but Merlin swiftly cut him short.

“If you need any help, with the business, I’m more than willing-”

“No,” Percival said. “Don’t you worry about me, Merlin. You’ve got enough on your plate.”

They were interrupted as suddenly Arthur’s voice rang out louder and clearer than the rest.

“But don’t you _see_? All of you are non-magicals, yet you’re all able to live and work in a magical community. Surely …” he suddenly petered off, realising everyone was listening.

“We’re lucky,” Elyan said, shrugging slightly.

Arthur glanced around, seeing that everyone was waiting for his response. His gaze met Merlin’s and his back straightened.

“No, it’s not just luck,” he insisted. “You’ve got connections. Lance and Gwen, with the magical who provided your sun lamps, Elyan with the magical who helped you find contacts. Don’t you see that by building these links between magicals and non-magicals we can start to forge a new community. Build peace, not war.”

Merlin felt his heart swell with pride.

There was something about the way Arthur sat there, his head haloed in the warm glow of the pub’s lighting, his eyes sparkling with determination, and yet still seeming so vulnerable, so afraid that they may not accept him. It was all there, and then gone again in a blink of an eye, so precious and vivid that Merlin just wanted to reach out and hold him …

“It’s not that easy,” Lance said slowly.

“But it’s somewhere to start,” Arthur said, ploughing firmly on, emboldened by the growing signs of interest in the group. “We can fight a different kind of war, show people that by working together we’re far stronger than we are divided.”

There was a quiet pause at the table, the expressions of the group varying from sceptic, to considering, to hopeful.

Merlin held Arthur’s gaze, giving him a small smile.

“That’s just … that’s just what I think, of course. And I wouldn’t ask any of you to have to rise up like that.” Arthur’s sudden boldness collapsed like a house of cards, and self-doubt clearly clawed at him.

Merlin wanted to vouch for Arthur’s cause, but held himself back. He knew his friends would follow him if he followed Arthur, but he needed them make the first step.

“I’d do it.”

It was Gwen who spoke, her chin raised resolutely.

“Me too,” Lance added a beat later.

“It could work,” Elyan said, after a pause.

“Sounds insane,” Gwaine chipped in, an easy grin breaking on his face. “I’m in.”

Percival leaned forward, big forearms on the table.

“It would be difficult,” he said. “But it’s the right thing to do.”

The group turned their attention to Will and Merlin, the only two not to speak.

“I’d follow you,” Merlin said quietly, watching as relief flooded Arthur’s expression.

There was a beat of silence, and they all looked to Will.

He sat back in his chair, his eyes shadowed and his expression dark.

“People get hurt,” he said eventually. “You can’t guarantee people won’t.”

“But-,” Arthur began, but Will held up a hand to silence him.

“ _But_ … It’s a plan,” he conceded. “And I feel like a fool, and I wouldn’t trust you with my cat, let alone my future.”

“You don’t have a cat,” Merlin murmured, and Will shot him a glare.

“What I’m saying is, _Pendragon_ , that, for now, I can agree to this. But the moment people start getting hurt, the moment you hurt my friends … you won’t see me coming.”

He thrust out a hand, waiting for Arthur to respond.

Arthur took Will’s hand and shook it once, firmly.

“I would expect nothing less,” he replied.

Merlin couldn’t quite work out what was going on behind Will’s gaze, but whatever it was, the next moment he snapped out of it.

“Right then, time for more beer.”

The comment was met by laughter and much agreement from his friends, and Merlin sat back, letting himself breathe in the moment of happiness.

Fleetingly, a different world had appeared, a shining vision of something better, something whole and good. Warmth blossomed in Merlin’s heart, and the endless ache of years of pain eased, if only for a little while.

It was easier to believe there tonight, that perhaps things could get better.

Eventually they had to call it a night, more than one of them having work the next day. Gwen and Lance were the first to leave, and Percival began cleaning not long after.

Biting back a yawn, Merlin looked across to find Arthur doing the same and they grinned at each other.

“I think it’s time to be heading home,” Merlin said, getting to his feet.

Across the table, Elyan hauled Gwaine to his feet, and Arthur followed after Merlin to the door.

Will was left alone, staring grimly into his cup. 

“Night, Will,” Merlin called from the door, but Will didn’t respond.

Gesturing for Arthur to go on ahead with the others, Merlin dropped back to the table, his forehead creasing in concern.

“What’s wrong, Will?” he asked. It wasn’t like Will to be quiet.

“You love him, didn’t you?” Will replied, quietly enough so that Percival at the bar wouldn’t overhear, but Merlin could still catch the bitterness in Will’s tone.

Momentarily, Merlin was lost for a response.

“So what if I do?” he responded defensively.

Will shrugged, an ugly expression on his face.

“You know he’ll leave, when he finds out.”

A cold weight hit Merlin low in the stomach and he practically stumbled back away from Will. It was something he’d thought about himself, something he’d realised, but never dared speak the thought aloud.

And to hear Will say it …

“You don’t know that,” he denied stubbornly, anger winning over hurt because Will was supposed to be his _friend_.

“Then why haven’t you told him?” Will retorted.

Merlin clenched his fists and abruptly stepped forward, looming over Will at the table.

“Why do you hate him so much?” he spat.

“Because I’m worried about you!” Their conversation had risen in volume, Percival at the bar evidently listening in. “I don’t want to lose you again, like after Freya. You’ve been so much better recently-”

“Because of him!” Merlin yelled. “He is the first thing to go right in my life for years, Will. I can’t hide away from everyone and block everyone off because I might get hurt. I can’t stay at home, safe, not taking any risks because that isn’t living. I can’t love someone like that. And I love him, Will. I love him so damn much.”

Will had gone quiet, his face a little pale, and his gaze fixed over Merlin’s shoulder.

Merlin spun around, his heart in his throat when he saw Arthur standing there, eyes wide and lips parted.

For a second, they just stared at each other, both perhaps afraid of falling into the yawning abyss between them.

Then Arthur held out a hand and gave Merlin a small, determined nod.

“Let’s go home.”

Without hesitation, Merlin followed after Arthur.

* * *

Merlin didn’t seem to want to talk, so Arthur didn’t broach the topic.

But all the way back to the flat, his heart beating loud and fast, and he couldn’t help but glance back over his shoulder every now and then.

Merlin had chosen him. Merlin wanted him. Merlin _loved_ him.

It almost seemed impossible. Dreamlike. Completely, utterly _insane_. But he’d heard the words from Merlin’s lips. And even in the dark and gloom, with the night closing in, it seemed like the brightest of summer’s days.

Merlin loved him.

The flat was cold when they arrived back, but they wordlessly began lighting the candles, the small glow bringing a little warmth back into the space.

Merlin looked drawn and hadn’t spoken a word since they left the pub. Whatever Will had said had hit him hard and, for the moment, Arthur had to put his own feelings aside.

Merlin was blinking a little dazedly, the candles casting his features into stark relief.

There was a fragility there, a hollowness, that Arthur hadn’t seen before, carefully hidden behind big smiles and cheeky retorts. It was pain, not visible on the surface, but bleeding out all the same. Something was hurting Merlin and Arthur cursed himself for not having noticed it sooner.

Shifting, Arthur moved to comfort Merlin, but before he could get near enough, Merlin took the smallest of steps backwards.

“I need to sleep,” he said. “I can’t talk. Not tonight.” 

Arthur hesitated, his hand hanging in mid-air between them, feeling like all of a sudden Merlin had thrown up a thick brick wall between them.

His hand dropped and he stepped back.

If Merlin wanted space, then Arthur wouldn’t push. But part of him couldn’t bear to see Merlin in so much pain and not be able to do anything to comfort him.

Despite what Merlin had said to Will, it seemed like he didn’t want Arthur now. Didn’t trust him.

“Sorry.”

Arthur wasn’t sure if he was meant to hear Merlin’s mumbled apology or not, but the sound of it sparked up anger inside him.

“Why won’t you let me help you?” he asked brazenly, heedless of any warning he might have given himself to give Merlin space.

Merlin had been walking towards his room and he stopped with his back to Arthur, shoulders bowed.

Arthur immediately felt guilty, but now the damage was done and he wanted to hear what Merlin would have to say.

 “You have helped me,” Merlin said, and his voice was steady, hiding the turbulent emotions Arthur knew lay underneath. “So, _so_ much. But I’m not ready.”

He turned his head, looking back at Arthur with faint tears in his eyes.

“Can you understand that?”

Arthur swallowed hard and nodded.

Merlin’s lips curled upwards in a small, sad smile and then he turned his back on Arthur once again and disappeared inside his room.

**ooOOOoo**

The next day, Merlin was practically normal again, but Arthur saw more clearly now the turmoil and pain he was feeling.

Neither of them said anything. For the time being, they were both playing into the charade.

“I thought I might drop by Gwaine’s place this afternoon,” Merlin said after a rather silent breakfast. “If you want to come?”

“Sure,” Arthur replied. “What does Gwaine do for a job? He never mentioned.”

Merlin grinned, the first real sign of happiness he’d had since the previous night. “Wait and see,” he promised cryptically. But you’ll like it.”

At work, Arthur met the manager for the first time. Daegal was … not what Arthur was expecting.

“I know what you’re thinking,” Daegal said, lifting his hands up in a surrender gesture. “Why would a magical like me want to help non-magicals?”

“It’s the curry,” Elena said, winking at Arthur as she passed by, dirty plates and bowls piled in her arms.

“Well,” Daegal replied, tilting his head to concede the point. “I’ll give you that. But … it’s more than that. And anyway, it’s what you do for friends.”

“Do you think there would be other magicals like you?” Arthur asked, the conversation at the pub last night weighing heavy on his mind.

Daegal frowned a little. “Well, yes,” he said. “Of course there’s M-”

“Arthur!” Mithian suddenly appeared behind Arthur, eyebrows raised and hands on hips. “Stop idling around and get moving. And no thanks to you for distracting him,” she added, pointing at Daegal threateningly. “This place doesn’t run itself.”

Arthur couldn’t be sure, but he felt there was something else Mithian was trying to say to Daegal, her expression a little too meaningful.

And he certainly didn’t miss the fact that Mithian dragged Daegal into a corner for a quiet conversation after.

He met up with Merlin after work, still mulling over the conversation with Daegal, but Merlin seemed happier and Arthur didn’t want to disturb his mood.

They headed to Gwaine’s, and upon arriving, all thoughts of work were put from Arthur’s mind.

“It’s incredible.”

Gwaine’s house was a small two-storey. The lower level was converted into a garage in which stood a gleaming car. The bonnet was open, tools and dirty rags scattered about and inside the upholstery was a little patched and torn in places, but other than that, it looked as good as new.

“Beauty isn’t she,” Gwaine said, coming down the stairs from the flat above, an easy grin on his face.

Both Merlin and Arthur, however, started in shock at Gwaine’s appearance.

Ugly bruises covered most of his face, and there was a large cut across his left eye and down his cheek.

“What happened to you?” Merlin burst out, a mixture of anger and worry crossing his face.

“Oh, this?” Gwaine asked, casually waving his hand over his face. “Nothing to worry about. As I was saying, she’s a real beauty. Been working on her for twelve weeks-”

“ _Gwaine_ ,” Merlin broke in.

“-hoping to get her sold off soon, too.” Gwaine carried on. “I’d love to take her for a ride as well. She’ll run like a dream when I’m finished-”

“Who did this to you?” Merlin asked, his voice little above a growl.

Gwaine stopped, pressing his lips together. For the first time, a crack appeared in his armour.

“There’s nothing you can do, Merlin,” he replied quietly.

For a beat, Arthur thought Merlin was going to respond, but then he sighed, and his shoulders dropped.

“I’ll go make some tea,” he said.

“Good idea,” Gwaine said cheerfully.

Both he and Arthur watched Merlin head upstairs.

Arthur waited until Merlin was out of earshot before he pinned Gwaine with a determined glare.

“I know battle wounds when I see them, and yours weren’t inflicted by a magical,” he said, his voice low and firm.

Gwaine looked away, picking up a cloth and wiping it over an invisible mark on the car’s wing-mirror.

“Maybe this magical liked to punch,” he replied.

“I also know when someone’s lying,” Arthur continued.

Gwaine snorted. “Do you indeed?”

There was a silence until Gwaine realised Arthur wasn’t letting down.

“Every week, sometimes more often, there’s a fight. Magicals place bets and non-magicals fight. There was one last night.”

“Why do you go?” Arthur asked.

“Don’t have a choice, do I?” Gwaine said roughly. “They bloody drag us off the streets. And they know me now. Me, Elyan, Will. They know we can fight well, know we’re a good bet … And I need the money anyway.”

“You fight your friends?”

Gwaine didn’t reply for some time, still rubbing his cloth over the same patch of metal.

“We try not to hurt each other too badly,” he said eventually.

Arthur gaped.

“And did one of them do this to you?” he asked, gesturing at Gwaine’s face.

“No,” Gwaine replied. “Some bloke called Cenred did this.”

Arthur tried to hide his surprise, but Gwaine noticed.

“Do you know him?”

“He’s from the Fortress.” Arthur ran a hand through his hair and blew out between his teeth.

“I thought he could fight well,” Gwaine said grimly.

“Did you beat him?” Arthur asked. 

“Of course,” Gwaine replied, and in spite of himself, Arthur gave a grim smile.

They both paused at the sound of the kettle boiling upstairs.

“Why don’t you tell Merlin?” Arthur watched carefully as Gwaine’s slight smile vanished, covered by some darker thought. He sniffed and turned away so Arthur couldn’t see his face.

“Merlin cares about us all. A lot. It’s best for him if he doesn’t know. He doesn’t want to lose any of us.” Gwaine moved the rag and began polishing another part of the car. It aggravated Arthur.

“Like Freya?” he asked.

That made Gwaine stop.

“How do you know about Freya?” he asked, his expression dark as he turned to face Arthur again.

“Will and Merlin were talking about her last night,” Arthur explained.

Gwaine pressed his lips together, then sighed.

“Freya was a friend. A good friend to all of us. But … she was a magical, a shapeshifter, and she had no control. Merlin was the only one who could keep her calm most of the time. Keep her safe from herself and others. But one night …” Gwaine’s face twisted in a pained scowl. “One night she lost control. Nothing we could do. And some non-magical got scared – damn it, we were all scared – and stabbed her.”

Gwaine was polishing the handle of the car furiously.

“She was the kindest, bravest, cleverest girl I knew. And because of prejudice and fear and this damn war … she ended up dead.”

Arthur’s voice was stuck in his throat. He couldn’t imagine the pain Merlin must have put himself through.

“Why does Merlin blame himself?” he asked eventually. “It wasn’t his fault.”

“Try telling him that,” Gwaine replied gruffly.

“Tea.”

They both jumped and turned to find Merlin coming down the stairs, his face a blank mask, betrayed only by the trembling of the cups on the tray in his hands.

“Merlin-”

“Tell us about that last car you sold, Gwaine,” Merlin said quickly, not meeting Arthur’s gaze and side-stepping nimbly away from Arthur’s touch. “And that motorbike. You must have made quite a bit from that.”

Gwaine hesitated for a moment, then launched into a spiel about a Jaguar he’d found wasting away on a dump outside of town, and how he’d slaved away to find all the parts, taking months to return it to its original state.

Arthur wasn’t listening. He couldn’t keep his eyes off Merlin.

He could figure out why Merlin blamed himself. What it was that Merlin thought he could possibly do to fight against the rest of the world. Why exactly he felt so responsible for his friends.

“Arthur.”

He snapped out of his thoughts to find Merlin giving him an odd look.

“Gwaine was talking about his magical buyers. I thought you’d be interested.”

It took Arthur a moment to catch up with the conversation, but, after a beat, he realised Gwaine was talking about connections in the magical society.

“It’s like what you were saying last night,” Gwaine said. “About building connections. I mean, it’s probably impossible, but I guess I like those kinda odds.”

“Yeah,” Arthur replied, still too caught up with thinking about Merlin to give the conversation his full attention.

“At first, I didn’t trust you,” Gwaine said, waving his polishing rag in what was meant to be a threatening gesture. “But then … well, it does make sense in a weird way. And we might have a chance.”

They left not long after. Merlin was still withdrawn and Arthur too lost in his thoughts for the conversation to really go anywhere.

The night was drawing in and the streets getting dark. Rain began to fall as Arthur and Merlin trudged along silently, side by side.

Arthur didn’t know what to say, didn’t know what he could do to draw Merlin out of this destructive reverie. He was losing him and he didn’t know what to do.

A sudden noise up ahead halted them both and in unison they shrank back into the shadows, watching the end of the street intently.

A shadow moved and a figure stepped out into the street.

Arthur blinked, for a moment not trusting what his eyes were telling him, then he stepped out into the street, eyes wide in disbelief.

“ _Leon_?!”

Leon jumped, hand going to something at his belt before, evidently, he recognised the person in front of him.

“ _Arthur_?”

There was a beat of shared incredulity before they pulled each other into a hug.

“What the hell are you doing here?” Arthur asked.

“ _Me_? We thought you were dead!”

They broke apart, Arthur checking Leon up and down and frowning at his battered state. A dark bruise spread across the left side of his jaw and he was cradling his right hand close to his chest, two of the fingers bent out of shape.

“What happened to you?”

Leon’s expression fell before he carelessly waved a hand over his injuries.

“I couldn’t keep my mouth shut.”

Arthur narrowed his eyes. Leon had always been diplomatic and never took a step out of line. He had watched from the outside of Uther’s council for years, behaving as the exemplary soldier, but still trying to do his best for the people.

Arthur could rely on Leon to keep the peace, but what he saw now sent a sickening wrench through his gut.

“How bad have things got?” he asked. Part of him didn’t want to hear it, didn’t want to face the truth about his father which had been becoming more and more apparent since he’d met Merlin and the others.

“Uther blames the magicals for your death,” Leon explained. “He’s mobilising the soldiers, every able-bodied man equipped to fight. Those who refuse are denied rations, thrown out, see their families go hungry.” Leon raked his good hand through his hair. “I couldn’t stay silent.”

“You did the right thing,” Arthur said, trying to ignore the reality of what Leon had just said.

“What happened to you?” Leon asked.

“Cenred,” Arthur responded. “He thought I knew something about what Uther was planning and when he realised I didn’t, he left me for dead. I made it into the city and met Merlin.”

Arthur turned to see Merlin standing a little way off.

“Merlin,” he called, and, after a beat, Merlin hesitantly joined them. His expression was still cold and he didn’t properly meet Arthur’s gaze.

“This is Leon,” Arthur explained. “He’s a friend from the Fortress.”

Merlin offered a hand and Leon took it, giving Arthur a quizzical look at the same time.

“If Cenred left you for dead, how did you make it to the city?”

Arthur was a little caught off guard at the question, expecting Leon to ask more about what he’d been doing since he left the Fortress.

“Oh, well, er.” Arthur didn’t want to seem foolish, but after everything that had happened, he couldn’t deny what he had seen. “There was this blue orb floating above me when I woke up.”

Arthur didn’t miss the way Merlin’s head shot up at that.

“You think magic saved you?” Leon asked.

“Who knows,” Arthur shrugged. “I guess I’ve got a guardian angel out there somewhere.”

Merlin was avoiding his gaze even more determinedly.

“How close do you think my father is to launching an attack?” Arthur asked, ignoring how bitter the word ‘father’ sounded on his tongue.

“He seemed to have some kind of breakthrough. Cenred’s been feeding information back – he didn’t find Sigan, but something he said made a lot of difference to Uther.”

“Cenred’s been playing the dutiful soldier?” Arthur asked.

“I think he’s realised Uther has the upper hand,” Leon replied.

“Project Excalibur,” Arthur said through gritted teeth. Obviously, Cenred had discovered its purpose, and whatever it was, it was enough to scare him into obedience.

“They’ve found a way to block magic,” Merlin said suddenly, his voice quiet.

Arthur blinked, wondering how Merlin could know.

“There’ve been rumours for ages,” Merlin said, shrugging. “And I can’t see Uther going to war without it.”

“That’s why he set up the mission,” Arthur said. “He didn’t want to work with a magical, he wanted to test them.” He gave a frustrated sigh.

Incorrect information about the scanners. Uther being so elated at the news of finding a magical, and a strong one. All of Cenred’s snide comments.

He’d been played for a fool.

Maybe his father hadn’t wanted him to end up dead, or maybe Uther had come to the conclusion there was no way Arthur would ever accept the atrocities he planned to commit.

His head dropped and he felt the guilt of everything his father had done and was going to do fall on his shoulders.

“There must be a way to stop him,” he growled.

“There’s no time,” Merlin replied.

Night had fallen, the street hidden in darkness as the street lights flickered.

Arthur was faced with the cold truth of just how far his father was willing to go. There would be destruction, massacre, those with magic forced into slavery, those without forced to Uther’s cause.

Uther was no hero. He was a tyrant.

A noise at the end of the street startled them all.

“We should be moving,” Arthur said gruffly.

After a short debate, they agreed Leon should stay with Gwen and Lance, it was nearest and there wasn’t room at Merlin’s flat anyway.

Arthur was silently afraid of how close Merlin was to breaking down, and thought it best if Leon wasn’t there.

He didn’t say a thing to Merlin until the door to their flat was shut behind them.

“I want to help, Merlin.”

There was silence in the flats except for the faint drumming of rain on the roof and against the window.

There was a determined line to Merlin’s shoulders, as if he’d come to some sort of conclusion, a duty he couldn’t escape.

His hands were trembling a little as he met Arthur’s gaze.

“It’s all going wrong, isn’t it?”

“No … no, Merlin. Come on, we’ll figure something out.” Arthur began to cross the space between them, stopping suddenly when Merlin practically flinched away.

“Uther’s going to come. They’ll be war. And I can’t save everyone.”

Tears were tumbling down Merlin’s cheeks.

“Merlin …” Arthur was lost for words.

“I heard what Gwaine told you, about the fighting. I can’t even protect them now, so what about later? They’ll come and take it away from me and I won’t be able to save them, I won’t be able to save you …”

“Take what?” Arthur’s voice stuck in his throat. He couldn’t breathe, couldn’t move. Could only watch as little by little Merlin fell apart in front of him.

“I just don’t want to lose you,” Merlin said, the words catching in his throat, choked out around a sob.

Without really knowing what he was doing, Arthur stepped close, lifting his hand to Merlin’s cheek and turning his face towards him. Merlin’s trembling stilled at the touch.

“I’m here,” Arthur said, giving as much weight to those words as he could. “I’m here.”

Merlin raised his head and before Arthur knew what he was doing he had leaned forwards, the tears now running down his own face mingling with Merlin’s as their lips touched.

For a terrifying beat of silence, Arthur feared he’d gone too far, but then Merlin lifted a hand to cradle the back of Arthur’s head and kissed him back.

It was sweet and bitter, mixed with salty tears and years of pent up pain and fear.

It was Merlin who pulled back first, tucking his head into the crook of Arthur’s shoulder and Arthur brought his arms up to embrace Merlin, pulling him close against him, trying to tell him without words that he would never, ever let go.

“Arthur …” Merlin’s voice was a quiet croak. “I have magic. I’m a sorcerer.”

Arthur’s heartbeat was suddenly very loud in his ears, his eyes fixed unseeingly at a spot on the carpet.

Merlin was a sorcerer. A magical.

 _Of course_.

“Arthur?” Merlin was shaking again and almost instinctively Arthur pulled him closer.

“Don’t …” He didn’t know what to say, caught in the gap between not knowing who Merlin was anymore, and yet so very frightened that in pulling away he’d lose Merlin, lose the only good thing to happen in his life in as long as he could remember.

But then again, it had been right there in front of him the whole time.

And there was no choice when it came to Merlin.

“I love you.”

It was the only thing he could say.               

Merlin collapsed into his embrace.

“Truly?”

“Yes.”

“Even … even though-”

“Merlin.” Arthur pulled back slightly, running a thumb over Merlin’s cheek to brush the tears away. Those bright blue eyes gleamed in the darkness. “It changes nothing.”

Merlin let out a small breath, the tears running freely now.

“It changes everything,” he said. “But not how I feel about you.”

Arthur gave a small nod, his breath hitching in his throat.

“I love you,” Merlin said.

“I love you, too.”


	6. Chapter 6

Merlin woke up with a crick in his neck and his throat sore and dry.

For quite some time, he lay staring at the ceiling, wondering why he’d gone to sleep in the living room instead of his bedroom. Then he was contemplating the warm body next to him. Then he realised it was Arthur.

The next moment, he shot up on the sofa with a startled yelp.

Arthur woke too, trying to turn at the noise before overbalancing and tumbling off the sofa. They both shared a look of confusion before Arthur raised a hand to rub the sleep away from his eyes, laughing softly at the same time.

“Next time, _Mer_ lin,” he said, “a gentler waking would be nice.”

Merlin opened his mouth to respond before the words ‘next time’ registered in his brain and he quickly shut it again.

Arthur was looking at him curiously and so Merlin determinedly cleared his throat.

“About last night, about what I said-”

“I still feel exactly the same as I did last night,” Arthur replied firmly, although the corners of his mouth tightened slightly, giving away the fact he hadn’t entirely forgiven Merlin.

Merlin hadn’t expected him to.

Arthur seemed eager to move the conversation on as he got to his feet and made his way into the kitchen.

“What time is it?” he asked.

“Eight-thirty,” Merlin replied, scrubbing at his face to try and wake himself up. If Arthur was fine with it, then Arthur was fine with it. He needed to move past it. Get on with being _normal_.

He laughed to himself at the irony.

“We’re going to be late,” Arthur said, over the sound of the kettle boiling.

“You are,” Merlin replied, stretching out on the couch to relieve the cramp. “I’ve got a day off.”

Arthur stuck his head round the door, pouting.

“Not fair.”

The kettle gave a particularly high-pitched whistle.

“Are you sure you know how that works?” Merlin asked. “I don’t want another flood.”

He grinned as Arthur’s pout deepened.

“Well, if you don’t want breakfast…”

As if in response, Merlin’s stomach growled loudly. He realised just how hungry he was.

Arthur smirked and headed back to the kitchen.

To Merlin’s surprise, he returned with two plates, each bearing toast and a mountain of scrambled eggs. He looked incredibly pleased with himself.

Merlin spiked a forkful of food and when he swallowed he looked up to find Arthur watching him, caught halfway between uncertain and hopeful.

“I do know how to cook,” he said, and even though Merlin could tell it was partly ego speaking, there was a veiled hopeful look, and Merlin couldn’t bring himself to let Arthur down.

“It’s good,” he said. “I’ll teach you how to use the washing machine next, eh?”

**ooOOOoo**

After waving Arthur off from the top of the stairs, Merlin turned back to the flat, suddenly at loss as of what he was going to do.

His days off usually comprised of wasting time reading books or wallowing in his thoughts with little else to do.

But since Arthur had crashed into Merlin’s life, he felt a strange desire to do something more. Perhaps it was Arthur’s contagious aspirations for peace, or simply the fact that since Arthur had become a part of Merlin’s life, his life had actually felt like it meant something.

His gaze rested upon the still broken washing machine, and with a soft laugh he set about getting ready to fix it.

His magic often reacted strangely when face with electronics, but he hoped it would behave this time. The last thing he needed was for Arthur to find out he’d gone and broken it further. 

Fortunately, his magic was humming lightly under his skin and it was only a few seconds’ concentration before the wires were fixed, the connections dried, and whatever it was that Arthur had put in there was washed away.

He realised he had his own washing to do and so gathered up the clothes, rooting around under his bed, and then under the sofa in case there was anything of Arthur’s lurking.

 _Not a servant_ , his mind reminded him firmly.

He would meet Arthur after work today, he decided, and they could get food together before meeting up with the others at the pub.

He felt buoyant, for the first time really accepting what Arthur had said to him the previous night.

Arthur loved him. He loved Arthur.

It seemed too perfect to be true.

It was just as he was dragging a damp sock out from under the sofa, that his hands alighted on something hard.

He froze where he was, crouched on the floor, his fingers stilling as the traced the outline of a book.

The book.

The next moment, he was scrambling back away from the sofa until his back hit the wall. He clutched the book in his hand, its sharp edges digging into his palms.

“No, no. No.”

He’d forgotten. He’d forgotten about its messages. He’d forgotten his vision.

He raised a hand to his mouth, tears springing to his eyes as he realised …

Arthur was the person in the vision.

Arthur was going to die.

“No.” His voice was low and hoarse as he desperately tried to deny it.

It couldn’t be Arthur. It couldn’t be.

His breaths started coming sharp and fast, the gold lettering of the book blurring before him and panic creeping into his consciousness.

Unwittingly, he dropped the book and it fell open on a page.

Merlin didn’t want to know what it said, didn’t want to have this terrible, _terrible_ fear confirmed, but he couldn’t resist looking, couldn’t tear his eyes away.

Black ink weaved and spread across the page and, for a moment, Merlin couldn’t even process one word. Then it sharpened, bile rising in Merlin’s throat as it did.

_It is your destiny, Emrys. As it is his._

“No!” The angry cry tore itself from Merlin’s throat and he hurled the book away from him. It landed next to the armchair and his magic, spiralling out of control, lashed out at it, the pages bursting into flames. 

Not Arthur. Not him.

Merlin sank down, fingers clawing into his hair as he tried to get a grip back on reality. How could he have forgotten? How could he have not realised?

He’d been too caught up in the whirlwind that was Arthur, dragged into the centre of the storm where Arthur was the only thing keeping him grounded.

And now that rock was gone. The rug pulled out from under his feet. Arthur was going to die.

A curl of flames leapt into the air, solidifying into a dragon.

“Albion is coming,” it said.

After it had vanished, flickering away like a candle in the wind, Merlin sat for a long time, staring into space, unable to comprehend it all.

It must have been hours later when he felt a sense of clarity return and he set his jaw. He couldn’t allow it to happen. He couldn’t allow another friend to suffer and die whilst he stood by helpless.

He needed answers.

**ooOOOoo**

“Iseldir. Iseldir!” Merlin hammered on the door, his breath coming in ragged pants after running halfway across town.

When his knocking yielded no response he went to the window, but everything was dark inside and he couldn’t see anyone moving.

“Please.”

As if waiting on his plea, the door suddenly opened, but it wasn’t Iseldir standing there.

“Mordred.” Merlin stalked closer, too worried and distracted to be patient with Mordred and his mind games. “Where is he? Where’s Iseldir?”

“So, the great Emrys has finally realised his destiny,” Mordred said, leaning against the door with a smirk curling his lips. “That even with the power of the world in his hands it will not be enough to save the one he loves. Again.”

“What do you mean ‘again’?” Merlin asked, but then he shook his head. “Where’s Iseldir?”

“Not here,” Mordred replied simply, his cold blue eyes boring into Merlin as if he could see the pain Merlin was going through, as if he were enjoying it.

“What do you know?” Merlin snarled. He lashed out angrily, grabbing Mordred by the collar and pushing him back up against the doorframe. It only proved to frustrate him more when Mordred didn’t react.

“That the wheels of fate are already turning, Emrys, and what has gone before will come again.”

“Shut up. SHUT UP!”

“You cannot defeat destiny, Emrys.”

“Just give me a straight answer!” Merlin roared, his eyes flickering gold as his magic whirled beneath his skin. Something in what Mordred said rang true and he felt unsteady on his feet.

Mordred’s smirk faded and his expression twisted into one of pure dislike.

“Pendragon has already taken from me what was dearest,” he said. “And so I will do the same to you.”

“Arthur hasn’t done anything wrong,” Merlin said. “And what have I ever done to you?”

Mordred narrowed his eyes and taking Merlin’s wrists, twisted himself out of Merlin’s grip.

“I was brought up on tales of the great Emrys, the great Arthur Pendragon. I was told of how one day they would unite the world and bring about a new age of magic and _peace_.” He spat the last word in Merlin’s face. “And yet all I know is that Arthur Pendragon killed the woman I loved, and the great Emrys proved to be nothing more than a pathetic and feeble coward who would not stand up for his kind and take the power that was rightfully his. I have watched you through the years, Emrys. Always begging Iseldir for advice and never listening. Turning aside the council of those more wise and powerful than you in your _pitiful_ desire to keep only your friends _safe_. To hide away from the war, live a life in the shadows. I watched and I knew, that one day I must take up the role you have abandoned and show the world the true meaning of power.”

Merlin wrenched himself out of Mordred’s grasp, eyes going wide at the sheer unadulterated madness in Mordred’s words.

“What the _hell_?” he spat, part disgusted, part terrified because he could see, Mordred meant every word of it.

“You better run, _Emrys_ , back to your Pendragon. Destiny might take him sooner than you think.”

Mordred slammed the door in Merlin’s face who stood there reeling, his thoughts unable to catch up.

Then, when Mordred’s words sank in, he turned tail and ran.

* * *

Arthur walked with a bounce in his step on the way back from work.

Gwen and Lance had dropped Leon off so Arthur could speak with him more and Mithian had spoken to him for a long time about Merlin. Everything seemed clearer now that he knew. Although, in some ways it seemed so obvious, and part of him couldn’t believe he hadn’t put the pieces together earlier.

But now there was nothing hidden. No more secrets.

As he reached the landing outside the flat, he frowned to see the lights inside weren’t lit despite the growing darkness.

He pushed against the door and as it swung open he frowned.

“Merlin?”

He got no response, but the hairs on the back of his neck stood up. Something wasn’t right.

He stepped inside, his shoulders tense, wary of a sudden attack.

“Merlin?”

The flat was silent.

He was halfway across the living room when the door slammed shut behind him. He whirled around to find a dark haired woman leaning against the doorframe, a cold smile on her face and a book in her hands.

It was the Pendragon book and Arthur felt shivers run up his spine as she delicately turned a page over.

“It’s a good read,” she said. “Have you made it to the end yet?” There was something cold in her gaze, underneath the taunting smirk.

“Who are you?” Arthur asked, immediately going on the defensive and balling his hands into fists.

The woman closed the book, still smiling, but then she gestured around.

“It’s a little dark in here, isn’t it? How about a little light?”

And without any physical sign, the candles sprang into light around them.

Arthur turned to find another woman standing in the doorway to the kitchen, the edges of her irises fading back from gold to brown.

“What are you doing here?” Arthur asked, glancing between the pair. He fought to maintain his composure as he came to the conclusion they were both likely sorceresses and he was alone. Defenceless.

“What have you done with Merlin?”

“Merlin is out,” the dark haired one replied, her smile broadening as if Arthur had just proved something to her. “But it’s you we wanted to speak to anyway.”

“Well, I don’t,” Arthur snapped. “Get out.”

“Oh, Arthur. Is that really any way to speak to a relation?”

Arthur’s narrowed his eyes, wondering what she could possibly mean.

“Morgana, we haven’t introduced ourselves yet,” the blonde haired said. “Arthur, this is Morgana. I’m Morgause. I presume Uther never told you that you have a half-sister.”

Arthur blinked and then looked between the two women.

“Yeah. Right,” he said in a feeble attempt at sarcasm.

“It’s all in here,” Morgana said, tossing the book across to Arthur. “I understand it’ll be a lot to take in-”

“Shut up,” Arthur said. He flipped through the book and pages caught his attention at random.

Dead mother. High Priestess. Avalon. Magic. Merlin.

“It’s just a story,” he said firmly.

“It’s destiny,” Morgause responded.

“It’s …” Arthur found the last page and stopped speaking. Gulping hard he looked up to see Morgause and Morgana watching him keenly. “Meaningless,” he finished.

Death.

“Whether you choose to believe it or not does not make it any less true, Arthur.” Morgause stepped away from the doorway only to drop into the armchair. “Why don’t you take a seat? We can talk things through.”

Arthur set his jaw, ignoring the desire to know more and simply gesturing to the door.

“I think I asked you to leave,” he said.

Morgause and Morgana shared a glance, Morgause tilting her head on one side, Morgana shrugging lightly.

“It must have been difficult for you,” Morgana said. “Growing up in the Fortress. Such a loveless childhood, always rejected by a father you tried so desperately hard to please.”

“How-? Shut up.” Arthur tried to block it out.

“Never given praise, never acknowledged. Never _loved_.”

Arthur felt his hackles rising and his hands were shaking.

“Shut up.”

“You know it’s true, Arthur. You know what he’s done. You know what a tyrant Uther is.” Arthur saw Morgana glance at Morgause again before she pressed on. “Join us and you can change that.”

Something seemed to settle in the turmoil of Arthur’s thoughts and a humourless laugh escaped his lips.

“Join _you_?” He raised his gaze, still laughing at the thought that they believed he would be so naïve. Seething that they believed he would come willingly. “Join you. Of course, that would make everything better. Without Uther, the world would be perfect, there’d be no poverty, no hatred, no war. Well take a look outside. Take a look at the world you’ve built and tell me you care, for one second, about _peace_.”

He threw as much scorn as he could into his words, seeing Morgana and Morgause for what they were. They were the elite. The rulers of a magical society which was steadily sending the world into chaos. A society where even the brightest of dreams, like Gwaine and his cars, or Gwen and Lance and their beautiful gardens, were crushed under the weight of hopelessness.

He thought of what Gwaine had said the previous night, the cold truth of the world they all lived in. This was the world Morgana and Morgause had built, and he would rather die than sell himself over to them for some vague shadow of peace.

Morgana’s eyes narrowed.

“Never were one to take the easy option, were you?”

Arthur snorted and dropped the book, he didn’t care what it said.

“Whether it’s true or not, doesn’t make any difference,” he said. “I don’t care about history, only now. And I’m not standing aside in the face of your tyranny.”

There was a silence following his words, broken only by a slow, sarcastic clap from Morgause.

“How inspiring,” she said bluntly.

Arthur had little warning before her eyes glowed gold and he was tossed across the room. His head hit the wall hard and he saw stars before Morgana was in front of him.

She grabbed him by the collar and hauled him onto the sofa.

“Even if you won’t stand by us,” she said. “You can’t stop us, and neither can he. Emrys’ power cannot match ours.”

“Oh, can’t it?”

The door swung open to reveal Merlin, his cheeks flushed and his hair windswept. His eyes were sparkling with what might have been tears, but at the same time, the air around him seemed to crackle with energy.

Morgana froze her eyes widening a fraction in fear.

“There’s no need for a fight, Emrys,” Morgause said suddenly, crossing the room. “I have offered before and I will offer again. Worse lies in store for both of you if you do not choose the right side now. We have all seen it.”

Merlin’s face clouded over and his lips were a thin, white line.

“You cannot fight this war alone,” Morgause said.

The tension fell away from Merlin’s shoulders, his head dropping and all the anger and emotion suddenly seemed to leave him.

“I never wanted to fight in the first place,” he said quietly, then threw out his hands and blasted Morgause backwards off her feet.

Morgana was quick to react, spinning around and conjuring flames to shoot towards Merlin.

He quenched them with a wave of his hand, sweeping his arm out to knock Morgana backwards too, but she somehow blocked the spell with one of her own.

Morgause had regained her feet and leapt towards Merlin with her eyes on fire.

“Merlin!” Arthur cried desperately, his hand outreached, not having a clue what to do.

Morgana and Morgause attacked as one and Merlin only just had time to raise his hands in a shield as flames rained down on him. The heat was incredible and Arthur had to turn his head away even as Merlin fell to his knees, his face screwed up in concentration.

Morgause was laughing, high and cold above the roar of the fire.

Suddenly, however, Merlin threw his arms outwards, the flames disappearing in a cloud of sparks and a violent gust of wind throwing Morgana, Morgause and Arthur across the room.

Arthur was forced over the sofa and rammed into the wall, all the breath driven from him.

Morgause collapsed against the doorframe to the kitchen, knocked unconscious by the fall, but Morgana landed in the hallway to the bedroom, and at once, trying to regain her feet and carry on fighting.

Merlin strode across the room, his hand outstretched, fist closing on thin air.

Morgana let out a thin cry of pain as Merlin steadily crushed her throat.

Arthur was on his feet before he knew what he was doing.

“Merlin, no!”

He grabbed Merlin from behind, enclosing him in his arms and pulling him back. Back from the brink of who knew what and away from Morgana.

For a moment, Merlin struggled, his breath coming in harsh pants, but slowly the fight left him and he collapsed back into Arthur’s embrace.

“She’s not worth it,” Arthur said quietly into Merlin’s ear. “This isn’t you.”

The flat fell silent except for Merlin’s breathing which steadily gave way to soft sobs.

Arthur moved his gaze to Morgana.

“Leave,” he said calmly. “Don’t think of coming back.”

Morgana’s face was white, with fear or fury, Arthur couldn’t tell, but either way she got to her feet, crossed to Morgause and lifted her into her arms.

She muttered a spell, evidently to make her burden lighter and then headed for the door.

“This isn’t over,” she said, throwing it over her shoulder as a final parting shot.

“It is for you,” Arthur murmured, not bothering to look as Morgana disappeared down the steps beyond.

He gently turned Merlin in his arms until they were embracing properly and then just held him as Merlin cried quietly into Arthur’s shoulder.

“It’s ok,” Arthur murmured. “It’s ok. I’m here.”

**ooOOOoo**

Arthur gathered Merlin up in his arms and carried him to the bedroom.

Merlin still had tears running down his face, but was silent now. He seemed to have exhausted himself in the fight. His eyelids were drooping as Arthur laid him on the bed. Arthur tugged off his boots and gently helped Merlin out of his coat, then he pulled the covers over him, taking a moment to brush the hair out of Merlin’s eyes.

He turned to go, planning to go and see Lance and Gwen, or maybe Will, and see if they knew how badly this would affect Merlin, but as he turned, cold fingers latched onto his wrist.

“Where’re you going?” Merlin asked softly.

“Just to find someone who can help, Merlin,” Arthur said. “I don’t know what I’m doing.”

“I’ll be fine,” Merlin replied, trying to push himself into a sitting position and failing. Arthur noted how all the colour had drained from his face and his hands were shaking. “Just … stay here. Please.”

“You’re not well, Merlin,” Arthur said. “I have to find someone-”

“It’s not safe,” Merlin said firmly. “You’re in danger.”

“No, Merlin. It’s you who’s in danger,” Arthur replied, gently removing his wrist from Merlin’s grip. “But I’m going to find someone and we’re going to make you better.”

“No, Arthur. _Please_.”

Arthur tried his best to give Merlin a reassuring smile.

“I won’t be long,” he promised.

“Arthur!”

He left the room before he changed his mind. Merlin had pushed himself too far, Arthur could see that, and he needed someone who knew Merlin’s power, knew Merlin, better than he did.

He ignored Merlin’s pleas, despite every part of his screaming to go back into that room, and left the flat, the door snapping shut behind him.

The evening air was chilly and he wished he’d grabbed his coat, but it was too late now to go back in. He didn’t think he’d be able to leave a second time.

Jogging quickly down the stairs he then set off at a quick pace, trying to stave of the cold as he ran. Darkness was falling over the city and Arthur ignored the thoughts of what might be lingering in the shadows.

Lance and Gwen’s wasn’t far away, and then they’d be able to sort out what to do.

His footfalls hitting the cobbles were the only sound in the deserted streets.

Without warning, he suddenly heard something rushing through the air before pain exploded in the back of his skull.

He stumbled and fell, catching himself before he fully hit the ground, his palms grazed nastily on the stone. The world darkened for a precious few seconds and he only just had time to roll over and bring his arm up to block a second attack.

The plank of wood caught him hard on the forearm, but Arthur was prepared enough to grab hold of it and twist it out of his attacker’s grip.

A boot met his side as he struggled to get to his feet and he grunted in pain, losing his grip on the plank just long enough for his attacker to take it back again.

Arthur pushed himself up onto his elbows to get a look at his assailant and his expression darkened when he saw it was Cenred.

“Get up,” Cenred snapped and when Arthur made no move to do so, he raised the plank threateningly.

Knowing that, unless he wanted to get knocked out, he had little choice in the matter, so Arthur slowly got to his feet, wincing at the pain in his skull and side.

“Look Cenred,” he said, “whatever personal vendetta it is this time, I really couldn’t care less.”

Cenred grinned, the light from the streetlamps above colouring his face in an eerie yellow glow.

“It’s not my vendetta this time, Pendragon. I’ve been sent to find you. Of course, your father was initially glad to discover you were alive, but that changed when he found out you’d run away from the Fortress to join with a sorcerer and plot to bring down his regime.”

Arthur was rendered temporarily speechless, before his temper rose.

“How do you know Merlin’s a sorcerer?” he spat.

“Well, when he so bravely saved you from the magical blocker, his reaction was quite telling,” Cenred smirked. “Amusing really, because if you’d been hit, it wouldn’t have done anything to you. But the amount of pain he went through, now he must be quite a powerful one.”

“That was …” Arthur cursed himself for not having put the pieces together sooner. “So that’s why you’re following Uther now. You’ve realised he’s got the power, and then when Merlin got hurt you realised it was an excellent opportunity to win favour.”

“Well, we couldn’t have Sigan, so _Merlin_ provided an excellent replacement.” Arthur hated the way Cenred’s tone curled around Merlin’s name.

“You’re deluded if you think you’ll ever get Merlin into the Fortress,” Arthur spat. “He knows what your planning and he won’t walk into a trap.”

“Ah, yes,” Cenred said, faking a look of worry. “But then again, we’ve found his weakness.”

Arthur laughed. “And what’s that?”

Cenred rolled his eyes.

“You.”

The plank of wood came rushing down towards him once more and Arthur didn’t have time to block the blow before, with a burst of stars, the world turned black.

* * *

Merlin rolled over in bed, a weak groan escaping him as he tried to get a hold on the fluttering, unruly strands of his magic.

He’d never used that much before, never had cause to. It ached, pulling on something deep inside him and leaving him with an age-old weariness. If Arthur hadn’t pulled him back he may have gone too far.

Arthur who had now stupidly gone out on his own to find help for Merlin.

Merlin tried wrestling with his wayward magic, fighting to calm it long enough so he could regain control and go after Arthur. He didn’t know what Mordred was planning, and he couldn’t leave anything to chance. Arthur didn’t understand the danger. Merlin hadn’t had time to explain.

After a long period of time, his magic eventually began to settle and he found enough strength to push himself up in the bed.

Arthur still wasn’t back.

He forced himself off the bed, staggering sideways against the wall and letting himself pause there for a moment, the coolness of the plaster grounding him, but then he pushed on. Arthur was in danger, he somehow seemed to know it, that right in that moment Arthur was in danger and Merlin couldn’t do anything to stop it.

His hand found the doorframe and he gripped it tightly, the thought of Arthur being the only thing to drive him onwards.

He had just reached the living room when a hammering on the door brought him up short.

“Merlin? Merlin!” It was Gwen.

An ice cold feeling settled in his stomach, dreading what she was going to say, knowing almost instinctively what had happened. 

He crossed the room to open the door, Gwen’s knocking becoming increasingly insistent, and when he finally got the door open, she practically smacked him in the face in her haste.

“It’s Arthur, isn’t it?” he asked heavily.

Lance followed Gwen inside and Leon came after both of them.

“It was Cenred,” Leon said, “the man from the Fortress.”

“We were coming over to see you both,” Gwen explained, “and we saw them in the street, but we weren’t fast enough.”

Merlin stared at the floor unseeingly. It wasn’t Mordred, but that didn’t mean Arthur was in any less danger.

He looked up, knowing what they would have to do, knowing there would be consequences and that they may never make it out alive, but he had to protect Arthur.

“You know the Fortress,” he said, meeting Leon’s gaze. He waited for his nod of ascent. “You can get us inside?”

Leon nodded again.

“Then we break in,” Merlin said, “and get him out.”

“Merlin, you can’t go to the Fortress,” Lance said firmly. “You look dead on your feet as it is and you’re a magical. You go in there, you’ll never come out.”

“And if I don’t go, Arthur’s as good as dead,” Merlin snapped. He softened slightly, because Lance didn’t deserve his anger and worry. “Some things are worth giving up your life for, Lance. Don’t tell me you wouldn’t do the same if it was Gwen.”

Lance quietened, eventually nodding in acceptance.

“We’ll need the others,” Gwen said, already handing Merlin his coat. “And a plan.” She seemed strangely calm considering her earlier panic, but when Merlin met her gaze he could see she understood how he felt. “We’ll get him back,” she promised. “We’ll get him back.”

**ooOOOoo**

“We’re all mad,” Will said, grumbling a little as they trudged between the trees. Night had fallen and in the forest, everything was dark and still.

Merlin led the group, a small ball of blue flames illuminating the way in front.

“Completely insane.”

Merlin tried to ignore Will, but it was difficult. The nearer they got to the Fortress, the more Merlin’s apprehension grew. He dreaded what they might find there and what would happen. He couldn’t bear the thought he might be leading his friends to their deaths.

He knew the Fortress had the ability to block magic now, or at least render him useless for a short amount of time. The feeling of walking into a trap steadily grew also, but Merlin had to put his fears aside.

Blind determination drove him on.

“We’re nearly there,” Leon said quietly, walking a couple of paces behind Merlin.

Merlin gestured ahead of him and Leon took the lead, the others all falling silent.

They crossed a small ridgeline of trees and Leon held up his hand to bring them to a stop. Merlin quenched the flames in his hand and crept forward to join Leon behind a large pine tree.

As his eyes adjusted to the light, Merlin could see a narrow gully ahead of them, ending in large steel doors.

“I’ll have to rewire the system,” Leon whispered. “And I may trigger an alarm. This … this isn’t going to be easy, Merlin.”

“We need to get him out,” Merlin said firmly.

“I know that,” Leon replied. “But I don’t think Arthur would ever forgive us if it were at the cost of your life. I’ve been in there, Merlin. I’ve seen what it’s like and I have an idea of what kind of weapons they’re wielding. Not one of them would hesitate to kill you.”

Merlin set his jaw.

“We need to get him out,” he repeated.

Leon looked a little conflicted, but then nodded before slipping away through the trees.

Merlin glanced back to see the others gathered under the low hanging branches of another tree, their faces hidden in shadow.

He felt a swell of gratitude in his chest, knowing that they would come all this way, risking their lives, not only for him, but for Arthur as well. He didn’t know how he would ever repay them.

A moment later and Leon was back.

“I can get the doors open,” he explained in a hurried whisper. “And I haven’t set off the alarms. Looks like we’re in luck.”

“Or this is a trap,” Will muttered.

Merlin was about to respond harshly, but Gwaine beat him to it.

“Look, if you don’t want to be here, just go,” he snapped. “But we’re here for Merlin and for Arthur because they’re our friends. Now, you can either leave or you can damn well accept that Arthur’s one of us now, he’s family.”

Merlin blinked, surprised at the outburst from Gwaine of all people who had never taken well to strangers and always hated the Fortress for reasons Merlin had never truly found out. To see this determined loyalty now practically brought tears to his eyes.

Will opened his mouth to respond, then shut it again. His gaze met Merlin’s.

“Family,” he said eventually, and Merlin couldn’t quite tell what he was thinking. Will nodded. “That’s that then. Let’s get going.”

Leon took control, and after he had disengaged the locks, he and Percival dragged the heavy doors open, Merlin helping them as best he could.

He was still shaky after his fight with Morgana and Morgause and knew he’d have to save every last drop of his strength for the fight that was to come.

The doors opened onto a sparsely lit passageway, the rough stone walls trickling with rivulets of water.

“Follow me,” Leon said.

They crept in, their entrance seeming to have gone unnoticed and that didn’t help Merlin’s nerves. It was too easy. Far, far too easy.

The tunnel to the door split into two, and they took the left hand passageway, following Leon with soft footsteps, every second expecting to be accosted by someone.

But no one came.

It was just as they turned the corner again, that Merlin chanced a look back towards the door and his gut tightened.

It was the passage from his vision. For a moment, he had to steady himself against the wall to prove the ground wasn’t shaking and that he wasn’t carrying Arthur’s body to the surface.

He swallowed hard as he realised the prophecy was coming true.

“Merlin?” Gwen’s voice was quiet and anxious and brought him back to reality.

He looked around at the others, seeing looks of concern on their faces.

Suddenly, somewhere deep inside the earth, he heard a deep, primal roar.

“ _Merlin_.”

“Merlin?” It was Gwen again and Merlin opened his eyes, not realising he had shut them as the voice – _dragon_ – had spoken.

“We need to get everyone out,” he said hoarsely. “Everyone. This place …” He shut his eyes again, the ground seeming to shake violently, but nothing moved. Again he heard the voice.

“ _Merlin. It is time._ ”

“No!” It came out as a yell and he opened his eyes to see his friends practically backing away in fear.

“I’ve seen things,” Merlin explained as best he could. “A prophecy. This whole place is going to be raised to the ground, you need to get everyone out before it happens.”

For the briefest space of time, he dreaded to think they wouldn’t take him seriously, wouldn’t believe him, but then Will nodded firmly.

“Right then. Leon, can you get us maps of this place, and we can start finding people and getting them out, maybe there’s an alarm we can set off? You and Merlin can go and find Arthur and rescue him.”

Merlin was taken aback at Will sudden willingness to help, but when Will met his gaze, he saw nothing but sheer loyalty.

“I get it,” he said quietly. “I understand. You go get him back.”

Merlin swallowed hard and nodded.

“I’m sure it’ll all go like clockwork,” Gwaine said brazenly as Leon led them off down another passage, searching for maps.

“It’s going to be fine,” Lance said, his optimism far too great considering the odds. “No one dies today.”

Merlin ignored the flashes of prophecy still echoing in his mind and silently followed after the others.

* * *

As Arthur awoke, he was aware of two things. First, a dull ache in his skull, second, that cold water was trickling down his back.

He wondered what time it was. He should probably be getting ready for work. He didn’t want to be late again.

As his brain slowly caught up with events, and he came to the conclusion that he most definitely wasn’t sleeping on the sofa, or in the bed, and that his hands were in fact chained behind his back …

Cenred.

Merlin.

His eyes shot open and he bolted upright from where he had been sat slumped against the wall. The room he was in was dimly lit and it took a while for his eyes to adjust to the light.

He was in the council room. The table had been moved to one side, and wires crisscrossed the floor, running from a generator in one corner to two black panels which faced each other on either side of the door.

“Ah, you’re awake.”

Arthur jerked around to find his father standing nearby, a strange, cold smile on his face.

Arthur tested the chains which kept his hands bound, but unsurprisingly found no give in them. He looked up to meet his father’s gaze, determined to appear defiant.

“I would have thought, _father_ , you would have been pleased to hear I was alive.”

Uther’s smile grew. “Of course I was, until the point at which I learned you were living and consorting with a sorcerer. A magical. After everything we have worked for.”

Arthur fought hard to hide his emotions.

“I would never have met him in the first place if it weren’t for your schemes and plans,” Arthur snapped. “Cenred and the others tried to find out from me what your plans were and when they realised I didn’t know, they pretended I was dead.”

“You could simply have returned to the Fortress,” Uther replied evenly. “Instead of running off to the city. Why didn’t you?”

Arthur snapped his mouth shut. He wasn’t about to admit he’d done it all to prove himself to Uther. The idea sickened him now. That he would have done so much for the approval of someone who cared neither for Arthur, nor for any other being in the world except himself.

“It matters not,” Uther said, sighing and walking away from Arthur to adjust some of the wires sprawling from the generator. “You have, in the end, completed your mission and brought us a magical we can test our weapons on. Cenred has assured me he will come.”

“That was never my intention,” Arthur growled. “I wanted peace.”

Uther gave a soft, chilling laugh. “There will never be peace, Arthur, until every magical in this world is wiped out or enslaved. They are a curse on this land. You’ve seen aboveground, haven’t you? You’ve seen the destruction and devastation they have caused. I will end all that.”

“I’ve seen hope out there,” Arthur said stubbornly. “So much more than here. Hope of harmony. Peace between magicals and non-magicals. You are the curse, Uther, and evil like yours will never triumph.”

Uther had turned from what he was doing to face Arthur, his eyes narrowed and his back stiff.

At last, he sniffed derisively and turned his back on Arthur once again.

“This magical has clearly woven his spells around you cleverly. Perhaps once he is dead you will see things a little more clearly.”

Arthur saw red.

“I won’t let you kill him!”

He staggered upright and leapt across the room at his father. Uther turned in time to catch Arthur with a stinging backhand across the face and Arthur fell sideways, tripping over the wires in the process and unable to break his fall with his hands bound behind his back.

He kicked out at his father, but was suddenly pulled upwards and backwards away from Uther.

Whoever it was dragged him back to where he had been sat before and dropped him there.

“Always a pleasure, Arthur,” Aredian said jovially as he walked to join Uther. His expression lit up at the sight of Arthur’s struggles.

Uther crossed the room, his mouth set in a grim, harsh line.

“You disgust me,” he spat at Arthur.

Arthur glared right back. “Believe me, the feeling is mutual.”

He realised he had never hated anyone as badly as the man in front of him at that moment.

They were interrupted by Cenred entering the room, followed by Valiant, Dagr, Ebor and the rest of the council.

“They’ve arrived,” Cenred announced and Uther nodded before turning to Aredian.

“Activate the system,” he ordered.

Arthur felt the blood drain from his face. Surely his friends wouldn’t have come to find him, surely they wouldn’t have risked so much.

“It’s ready,” Aredian announced after a few minutes of tense silence.

Cenred smirked at Arthur from where he was lounging in a corner and Arthur felt his throat constrict.

He had seen how much damage the prototype had done when Cenred had used it on Merlin before. He couldn’t see it used on Merlin again. He couldn’t stand by helpless and watch this happen.

A few more minutes went by, everyone clearly waiting for Merlin’s arrival and Arthur hated every single one of them for the feral, sickening looks of excitement and expectation on their faces.

Suddenly, however, an alarm began to ring out, loud and brazen in the silence.

Uther stiffened, looking a little wrong-footed.

“That’s the evacuation alarm,” Cenred said.

“Why’ve they set it off?” Aredian asked.

Uther looked at Arthur, glaring as if it were Arthur’s fault his friends were resourceful.

“It doesn’t matter,” he snapped. “They won’t leave without Arthur.”

He dragged Arthur to his feet, holding him close by the chains.

“Perhaps,” he said quietly into Arthur’s ear.  “When you see the power we wield it will encourage you to think twice about which side you’re on.”

Arthur didn’t respond, his gaze fixed on the door, dreading the moment when it would open.

* * *

Leon and Merlin had descended several levels of the Fortress, simultaneously encouraging the civilians to leave and checking every place Leon could think of for Arthur.

“They must be in the council room,” Leon concluded at last, his face twisting into a scowl.

“Not a good thing?” Merlin queried.

“Well defended, one entrance. They’ll know we’re coming long before we get there.”

“Not if I can help it,” Merlin said firmly.

They had dropped down another level, dodging fleeing people, when Leon suddenly stopped short.

“Gaius!” he exclaimed.

Merlin spun around, confused that Leon would both know who Gaius was and that Gaius would be _here_.

“There’s someone else I need to get out,” Leon said, “he’s several floors down.”

“You know Gaius?” Merlin asked.

“ _You_ do?” Leon replied.

“He was … he was a friend of my mother’s. Why is he here?”

“He came to help Uther in the war effort,” Leon replied, looking a little pained. “Uther’s never let him leave.”

Merlin felt something tight catch in his throat.

“But that doesn’t matter now,” Leon said, “I have to go and find Gaius, if what you say about this place falling down is true. You’ll have to go on alone.” Leon paused and then stamped his foot. “But damn it, you don’t know the way-”

“I can find him,” Merlin said quickly. “I can use my magic. Find Gaius and get him out of here. I’ll be right behind you.”

He said the last part sounding far more confident than he felt. He’d already seen the prophesy. He knew just how terribly wrong this was about to go.

Leon gave him a grim nod.

“I can see why Arthur loves you,” he said quietly, and then disappeared around a corner.

His words caught Merlin low in the gut and for a brief moment he could only stand still, trying to catch his breath.

Snapping back to reality, he reached for his magic, spreading it out to search every corner and corridor of the complex. It didn’t take him long to find Arthur, his presence glowing bold and bright and calling out to Merlin through rock and stone.

He was still alive.

Merlin took off at a run.

* * *

The doors to the council room burst open and Arthur’s heart caught in his throat to see Merlin charging in, his eyes alight with fire and his arm outstretched.

“Merlin, no!”

Arthur barely had time to shout the warning before Merlin suddenly stopped dead, as if brought up by an invisible wall. His mouth opened in a small gasp of surprise and time seemed to halt for Arthur as Merlin slowly toppled forward, the gold fading from his eyes.

“MERLIN!”

He tried to rush forward, but Uther held him back, helpless, as Merlin fell to the floor, landing on his back with a dull exhale of air.

Those bright blue eyes had lost their light.

“NO! _NO_! MERLIN!”

Arthur fought for all he was worth, but Uther did not relinquish his hold.

Arthur’s screams tore at his throat. He didn’t care what anyone thought, didn’t care what happened next, because if Merlin was gone, there was nothing left.

“Is it gone?” Uther snapped. “Is his magic gone?”

Arthur took little pleasure in seeing that none of the council seemed willing to approach. Cowards.

Cenred stepped forward eventually, nudging Merlin with the toe of his boot.

“He’s alive,” he pronounced, and Arthur sagged against his chains, relief hitting him in a wave.

“Does he still have magic?” Uther ground out.

Cenred looked around at Valiant. “Pass me one of the prototypes,” he said. “If his magic’s gone, it’ll have no effect.”

Valiant passed over one of the silver discs and Cenred stepped over Merlin, grabbing his arm.

Arthur saw Merlin stir slightly, his forehead creasing in a frown and the slightest twitch of movement as he tried to get away from Cenred.

Cenred stabbed the disc into Merlin’s arm and aside from a small cry of pain on Merlin’s part, nothing happened.

Cenred stepped back, satisfied.

“It’s gone,” he pronounced.

There were sounds of triumph around the room. Someone applauded. Someone else laughed.

Arthur strained at the restraints, desperate to go to Merlin’s side.

“Just let me go to him, please. Just let me go to him,” he begged, unashamed, tears pouring down his cheeks.

To his surprise, Uther let him go, and he staggered forward slightly before regaining his balance and rushing to Merlin’s side.

“Merlin. Merlin.”

He was distantly aware of his father talking, his tone full of pride, victory.

Arthur blocked him out, caring only about Merlin, who, as Arthur knelt at his side, cracked his eyelids open and gave Arthur the barest of smiles.

“’thur …”

“Merlin. You stupid, stupid fool.” Tears still ran down Arthur’s cheeks. “Why did you do it? You knew. You knew what they could do.”

“Had to save you, didn’t I?” Merlin replied.

He slowly raised a hand to cradle Arthur’s face.

“It’s cold,” he said suddenly, his voice cracking slightly. His free hand hovered over his chest and Arthur could only imagine the pain Merlin was going through at the loss of his magic. “It’s so cold.”

Arthur wanted to hold Merlin, to draw him close and never let go, but no matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t break free of the chains. His wrists were raw.

“I’m so sorry. So, so sorry.”

“Not your fault,” Merlin replied, but there was something dead in his eyes, some spark of him that had gone out.

“And _this ,_ gentlemen,” Uther’s voice suddenly rose above the general noise and Arthur tensed, tearing his gaze away from Merlin to see his father stood in the middle of the room, tossing one of the silver discs in his hand, “is how we win the war!”

There was cheering, jeering laughter and applause. Someone dragged Arthur away from Merlin and Valiant dragged Merlin onto his knees, pulling him up by the hair.

The laughter increased.

It died abruptly as with a loud bang and a flash of light, the panels on either side of the door exploded in a shower of sparks.

A figure stood in the doorway, a cloak wrapped around their shoulders, the hood pulled low over their face

“Is it indeed?” As they spoke, Arthur realised it was a man. His tone was mocking. “Really, Uther? You think you have any power over us?”

Uther crossed the space, the prototype in his hand flashing in the light.

“Stay back sorcerer. I am informed that the effects of this are highly unpleasant.”

The man stepped further into the room.

“Oh, really?” He threw out an arm and the disc slipped through Uther’s fingers and into his open hand. “Shall we try it on you then, Uther? Or perhaps your son here?”

“Mordred. Stop this.” It was Merlin who had spoken, his face pale, but his eyes dark with warning.

The man – Mordred – laughed. “You are in no position to stop me, _Emrys_.”

“That will not work on me, sorcerer,” Uther spat, ignoring Merlin entirely. “Only those with magic are affected.”

“Granted, it will not work on you,” Mordred said, turning away from Merlin and lowering the hood of his cloak. In the dim light, his eyes gleamed. “But what of your son?”

“I don’t have magic,” Arthur snorted.

Mordred raised an eyebrow and turned his gaze to Uther.

Arthur looked to his father also, startled to see anger, and no small amount of fear in his eyes.

“Of course, that is the reason you joined this war, wasn’t it, Uther? After using magic yourself to gain the heir you so desperately desired, and losing the woman you loved, you turned to destroying my kind in a quest for vengeance.” Mordred’s words were thick with disdain.

Arthur felt his insides go cold at the memory of the Pendragon book. It was the same, exactly the same.

The expression on his father’s face proved it all.

He couldn’t help but remember how the book ended.

“Therefore, as magic runs in his veins,” Mordred said, turning back to Arthur with a smirk. “To take that magic, is to take his life.”

He flipped the disc in his hand and advanced towards Arthur.

“I will not let you do this!” Uther leapt at Mordred, but Mordred simply threw out a hand, throwing Uther backwards.

 _So he did care_. The thought flashed briefly in Arthur’s mind before it was gone.

Kay and a few others in the council looked like they might attack also, but all it took was a flash of Mordred’s eyes and the entire council collapsed to the ground.

Valiant, still restraining Merlin, remained standing and Merlin struggled desperately against his grip.

“Please, Mordred …”

“See this, Emrys. This is how it feels. This is how I felt when I returned to my home to discover the Pendragon raiding party had destroyed _everything_ and the woman I loved was dead. This is how it feels to have your life torn apart.”

“Mordred,” Arthur began. “Whatever happened …” He shut his mouth as Mordred stepped closer, flipping the silver disk between his fingers. Arthur didn’t doubt that it would work.

This was just like before.

Merlin was still struggling, tears spilling down his cheeks.

“You can’t do this Mordred!” he yelled.

A strange, sad smile crossed Mordred’s face as he moved to Arthur's side.

“I have to, Emrys,” he responded. “This is how it will always end.”

Arthur couldn’t move, couldn’t breathe. His eyes were fixed on Merlin, in a moment that seemed to last an eternity, before Mordred brought his arm swinging down to drive the disc into Arthur’s chest, right over his heart.

…

There was no pain. Only a faint ringing in his ears as the room began to go dark.

He could see Merlin, his mouth open in a scream as he broke free of Valiant’s grasp.

But at the same time, he could see a castle on a hill, the sun sparkling over the turrets and towers. A brilliant flash of a red cape. A unicorn. A bright sword buried in rock. Merlin cradling him in his arms.

Merlin leapt forward, gold burning through his irises, his face creased in pain and fear.

 _Stay with me_.

Everything went dark.

* * *

The ground was shaking, the lights in the room flickering.

Merlin pulled Arthur into his arms, his magic flicking out to release the chains.

It didn’t matter that he himself had started the earthquake that would destroy the Fortress. It didn’t matter that dragons would soon claw their way up to the surface. It didn’t matter that Mordred was dead, that soon they would all be dead, buried beneath the earth.

The only thing that mattered was Arthur.

“Come back to me,” Merlin sobbed, his heart giving way even as his magic continued to surge on, tearing down pillars of rock and stone, walls, ceilings, floors.

“Please. I need you.”

He dragged Arthur into his arms and staggered to his feet.

He wasn’t strong enough to carry him. Wasn’t strong enough to save him.

He choked out a sob and stumbled out of the room, leaving only the dead behind.

The earth was trembling, rock and stone tumbling from above. The lights continued to flicker and die, but in the darkness, Merlin trudged on.

Desperation was the only thing left now.

_He can’t be dead. He can’t be._

It was a mantra. A plea. He couldn’t live with himself if he’d lost Arthur.

His arms ached.

He marched on.

At last, the saw daylight ahead, dawn just arriving aboveground. The trees were falling, great cracks opening in the ground.

Lightning crackled overhead. Rain cascaded down.

A roar echoed from the ground, much like the scream of defeat from Merlin’s own throat.

He fell to his knees. He couldn’t go on.

The soil shifted under him and fire burst from the ground, the downpour of rain unable to quench it. With an almighty crack, the ground around him fell away and something great and golden clawed its way up from out of the earth.

It paused for a moment, its golden eyes meeting Merlin’s.

And then it launched itself into the sky. Fire, destruction and ash raining down _._

Merlin bowed his head, looking down at Arthur.

_He can’t be dead. He can’t be dead._

With a great rush of air, the dragon swept round and came to land not far away, fallen trees cracking under its weight. It lowered its head towards Merlin in a strange sort of bow.

“Emrys.” It said. “Albion has come at last.”

“No.” Merlin sobbed. “No. It hasn’t. It can’t. He’s dead. _He’s dead_.”

Somehow, Merlin felt like he’d been through this before. That some great circle had spun around and they were living all of this a second time.

But perhaps … not.

“He is not dead.”

The dragon had to say it five times more, before Merlin actually heard.

“He’s not dead?” He jerked his head up, barely daring to hope that it could possibly be true.

“Arthur is the Once and Future King. And his time has come. No darkness can take away the destiny that you both share. Mordred took away the magic in Arthur’s blood. All that remains, is for you to return it.”

Merlin gaped, his hands trembling as his magic whipped around, unbidden, and encircled them both on the ground.

A little way off the in the trees, he thought he saw an old man, raising a hand in farewell.

Castles. Dragons. Two worlds colliding in a blinding shower of gold.

But only one thing mattered. Only the man cradled in his arms.

“Not dead?” he repeated dimly, gold overtaking his vision and two heartbeats echoing loudly in his ears.

“ _Not dead_?”

He closed his eyes, his magic whirling in a tempest around him, flowing freely, untamed and unfettered. It sought out Arthur, that bright light not burning anymore, and like striking a match in a dark room, light exploded across Merlin’s vision.

“Merlin.”

He opened his eyes, all his breath leaving him in a single gasp to see Arthur looking back up at him, those blue eyes sparkling with the faintest hint of gold.

“Arthur…”

He scrabbled at Arthur’s chest, tearing away the silver disc and then without hesitation, he dragged Arthur into a hug.

“Arthur. You’re alive. You’re _alive_.”

“I’m here, Merlin. I’m here.”

There was nothing more to say.


	7. Epilogue

“They won’t listen to me,” Arthur said as he and Merlin trekked through the ruined forest, following the tracks of those who had fled the Fortress. The rain had ended and the first light of day was stretching across the sky.

Merlin’s hand was in his and Arthur had never felt so alive.

“You’ve got a dragon,” Merlin murmured, and indeed the dragon – apparently called Kilgharrah – was following behind. “Of course they’ll listen to you.”

There was a teasing smile on Merlin’s face and Arthur couldn’t help but melt at the sight.

“But seriously,” he said, after a pause. “What am I going to say? We’ve just destroyed their home. Uther was my father. They won’t follow me.”

“Just be yourself,” Merlin said calmly. “Believe in the world you want to build. I’ll be right there beside you.”

They came to the edge of the trees, a wide expanse of ramshackle housing and tents stretching between them and the city.

Nearby, a crowd had gathered. People clung to each other and stared at the forest in fear. Arthur could see people he knew from the Fortress, but also others who were better dressed, their expressions grim and their hands raised in warning as Merlin and Arthur left the trees.

“Magicals,” Merlin murmured. “From the city. They’ve come to see their King.”

“I’m not a king, Merlin,” Arthur replied quietly.

Merlin stopped him with a hand on his arm.

“Maybe not, but you’re a good man, Arthur. I believe in you and in the future you will build. Time to show them that.”

Arthur blinked, for a moment at a loss for something to say.

“We.” He forced out everything. “The future we’ll build. Together.”

Merlin smiled shyly.

“I love you, you know?”

“I love you too.”

Arthur took a breath and nodded, somewhat to himself. Merlin’s faith a steady rock as he came to the front of the crowd.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” he began, nowhere near loud enough and even those closest to them barely turned. He felt Merlin touch his arm gently.

“Try again.”

He cleared his throat.

“Ladies and gentlemen.” His voice, magically amplified, boomed out across the crowd. Everyone rapidly fell silent.

“Um… Well.” Looking out he could see Lance and Gwen, Leon, Gwaine, Elyan, Percival and Will. Gaius was there too.

Everyone waited expectantly.

Merlin’s hand slipped into his.

“For a long time we have been at war, magical against non-magical, friend against friend, sister against brother. For a long time, this land has known nothing but pain, and anger, and destruction.

“The time has come for that to end.”

Merlin squeezed his hand lightly.

“We stand at the threshold of a new age, an age of peace, and harmony, where magicals and non-magicals may live together and know no hatred, no greed, no anger. Today, we can bring about that time; we can lay down our weapons and bring about the world we have all longed for.

“That time is Albion. Albion has come.”

There was an intake of breath from some of the magicals nearby.

“I am Arthur Pendragon. I have lived in the Fortress most of my life and have seen pain and loss. I have been aboveground in Camelot and have seen the same. But I have also seen hope. Hope for a better world. Hope for a future.

“I stand here now, nothing more than a man. A non-magical who would stand side by side with a magical. Merlin and I ask that you join us in our fight for peace, that you join us so that together we can bring about the future we dream of.”

A magical stepped forward, his eyes narrowed in suspicion.

“How do we know you are who you say you are?” he asked.

Arthur glanced sideways at Merlin, letting a small smile tease at his lips.

“Shall we give Kilgharrah a call?” Merlin asked, biting on his lower lip to hide his grin.

Arthur nodded and Merlin turned back towards the trees.

A roar, deep and primal escaped his lips.

“ _O, Drakon_!”

A roar echoed his and Kilgharrah leapt into the air out of the trees, his golden scales burning bright in the light of the sun.

Several people screamed.

Arthur turned to the magical.

“Does that answer your question?” he asked, trying hard not to laugh at the expression of sheer disbelief on the man’s face.

“Long live the King,” the man murmured.

Merlin joined Arthur once more and together they surveyed the crowd.

Arthur turned his head sideways and captured Merlin’s lips with his own. Merlin hummed happily at the contact before wrapping his arma round Arthur’s middle, drawing him close, and Arthur brought a hand up to cup the back of Merlin’s head.

Someone, probably Will, wolf-whistled.

The end of the war had begun.

In the light of the rising sun, they turned towards the city and their future.

 


End file.
